


Void in my heart

by Shirasu_gohan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Corporal Punishment, Dark Tony Stark, Emotional Manipulation, Forced Relationship, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Infantilism, Kidnapping, Little Peter, NOT STARKER - Freeform, Non-Consensual Infantilism, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Sexual Age Play, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker has PTSD, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2021-04-09
Packaged: 2021-04-18 19:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 57,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21834892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shirasu_gohan/pseuds/Shirasu_gohan
Summary: Peter Parker has a hard knock life, after losing his aunt in a tragic accident. Now 15 and orphaned, under the mercy of the foster system, things couldn't get any worse right?Peter is kidnapped by Tony, taken away from his life and thrown into a new lifestyle against his will while trying to get over his aunt's death.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 461
Kudos: 1318





	1. The boy from midtown

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fic in English which isn't my first language so do close an eye if you happen to see any minor mistakes :)  
Though its originally a 15 chapter story written in Japanese, I might shorten or keep it the same depending on how I fare as I progress, we'll see how it goes.  
Feel free to leave comments and feedbacks! They keep me motivated
> 
> This fic would be strictly non-sexual and non starker

_ “We’re so sorry Peter…..I’m sure May’s in a better place now, tell us if you need anything alright?” _

_ Peter was sick of hearing those words, knowing the adults only said that for the sake of it and wanted nothing to do with the now orphaned 15-year-old. Heck, they were all so reluctant to give him their phone numbers, how on earth was he going to reach out for help if he needed them? _

_ He was a smart kid after all, being able to see past their pitiful expressions. _

\----------------------------------------------------------------

6 months since May passed,

But to Peter, he could still remember the smell of fresh blood and wet asphalt, memories of May’s last moments etched in his head, almost as though the accident happened just yesterday. 

Reaching his hands into the backpack, Peter sneakily gave the medium-sized teddy bear a tight squeeze in an attempt to self soothe. Just a year ago, If someone told him that he would be bringing around a teddy bear ( given by one of May’s co-worker and being tossed to Peter because May didn’t want it) to school like a small child, he would have laughed in their face.

But now, he was practically inseparable from the stuffed toy, growing increasingly emotionally dependant on it. Hoping that it would somehow, fill the parental void that was left behind with May’s passing. 

Peter was always a tactile kid, he loved getting hugged or having May to brush his curls with her hand. 

Now that she was gone, he would often find himself rubbing the ears of Tuffy, feeling the soft fleece material against his fingers as he tries to calm himself down whenever he felt overwhelmed or when he missed Aunt May badly.

Peter made sure to be careful though, he did not need any more nicknames and snide remarks on top of the ones already given to him over the school years. Knowing that he would never hear the end of it if flash ever finds out, spreading the news to the whole class that Peter Parker, was a man child. 

Some nights when he felt especially lonely, he wished he could hug Tuffy to bed, nuzzling it closely to his chest as he lulled into sleep. But he knew that wouldn’t happen for a long time, at least until he was out of the foster system. 

Mr and Mrs Wilson were a fairly nice couple, taking him in graciously despite having 8 other kids in their group home, they provided him with shelter, made sure he was well-fed and even let him continue schooling in Midtown high. 

Just that they were so caught up with their work and having to divide their attention to 9 kids, Peter never really got to receive the emotional support and love he needed so desperately to get through the difficult phase of mourning. 

And with 8 other kids living with him, it also meant that he had absolutely no privacy. The bathroom was the only place he truly got to be alone and it had almost become a routine where he would hug Tuffy tightly to his chest, sobbing and finally drenching his face in ice-cold water before heading out, not wanting any of the kids or the couple to find out that he was crying. 

Knowing that he could have ended up somewhere worse, Peter tried to make the best out of the situation and put as much effort as he could on his schoolwork, maintaining straight A’s, hanging out with Ned and occasionally bantering with MJ.

To most people, Peter seemed like a reserved but otherwise healthy kid, seemingly gotten over his aunt’s death. Even Ned failed to realize how much he was deprived of love, affection and how difficult it was for Peter to maintain his usual cheerful demeanour.

  
“Dude! you gotta sign up, they’d choose you for sure.”

Peter’s train of thoughts was interrupted with a firm smack on his back, Ned grinned at him while pointing to the stack of envelopes left at Mr Harrington’s table.

“Huh, what?” Peter gave a confused look, realizing that he had been zoning out throughout the lesson. 

“It’s the Stark internship, they’re accepting applications from all the STEM schools around New York. All you have to do is fill up the application package and hand it up to Mr Harrington by Monday. It’s only for the summer break next year and there’s a selection process followed by an interview though, and only 3 students would be taken in.” 

“I - I don’t know Ned, an internship just seems so daunting, besides, what would Mr Wilson think?” 

“Come on Peter, you’re the smartest friend I know. Technically you are the only friend I have, unless um, MJ wants to be counted in but - you get what I mean right? It’s their loss if they don’t pick you” 

Peter smiled at Ned’s rambling. Truthfully he did want the internship, after all, it was Stark industries, one of the richest and renowned company to exist. Even if it wasn’t a paid internship, this was probably the only chance for students like him to be allowed in their buildings. 

If Peter happened to be one of the lucky 3s, he would be surrounded with all the brilliant minds, both qualified and wealthy for the rest of his summer break. While he was just a 15-year-old kid from queens, orphaned and under the mercy of the foster system.

“Oops, guess my hands slipped, pick that up.. loser.”

The envelope, filled with thick stacks of paper was dropped right on top of Peter’s head and landed on the floor. 

“You know MJ, I might not be the smartest person around, but I see what you did there, just tell Peter already if you want him to sign up too. Or are you too shy because you have a secret crush on Pete -- OUCH” Ned snickered as he gave MJ a nudge on her arm only to be elbowed back.

“Finders keepers Peter, you picked that up so it’s yours now. I don’t want it anymore. And oh look, you even have a profile picture for your application form now.”

Peter’s phone notification went off, he tapped on the messaging app and a picture of him, wide-eyed and dorky appeared on the cracked, worn-out screen. Clearly taken seconds after she dropped the application package on him.

Before he could protest at MJ to delete the picture, she hurriedly scooted out from the classroom.

“Guess I could give it a try huh?” Peter shrugged with a small smile, he knew MJ always meant well. 

Even after Aunt May’s passing, she never treated him differently, being her usual sarcastic and cynical self instead of throwing a pity party for Peter or treating him like glass.

That evening, Peter nervously told Mr Wilson about the internship, only to be pleasantly surprised by a reassuring smile with a pat on the shoulder, promising him that he'll sign the consent form after dinner. 

"Here you go Peter, you're a smart kid, real bright too, I'm sure the folks at stark industries will love you. How’s school by the way? Everything alright?” 

All of the other kids had already left the dining room, scattering to the backyard for some playtime before bath and bed. Being the oldest, Peter took the initiative to do the dishes when Mr Wilson called him out, handing him the consent form he promised earlier. 

“Oh, um hi sir! s-sorry, I was kind of distracted. Thanks for the form, yeah, everything’s good, my grades are decent and my friends are nice too, we get along pretty well.” 

“Decent? come on don’t be so modest! I know about your grades Peter, heard you topped your level for the last physics, chemistry and math test. You know, I wasn’t the smartest kid around and my school was nowhere near as prestigious as yours. Be proud of yourself, keep up the good work and don’t hesitate if you need anything.”

Peter meekly blushed at the compliment, a warm and fuzzy feeling spreading from his chest. He wasn’t quite sure what that was but he knew for sure that someone cared for him, bothering to remember about his grades, that was something to be happy about right?

He nodded softly thanking him one last time before Mr Wilson had to leave - apparently one of the kids got his legs stuck in the sewer while playing. 

_His past academic achievements, basic profile, reasons for application and parent's consent. _

Stapling the necessary documents together, Peter slotted the papers into the envelope and sealed it shut. He didn't have a passport picture, so he printed out the photo MJ took earlier today, hoping that it would suffice, expecting the other students to do the same. 

The following day, he handed up the package to Mr Harrington with Ned. 

At this point, he hoped that he got in. Peter knew that May would be so proud of him if he did, recalling how she had brought him to a fancy restaurant to celebrate his acceptance to Midtown high. He wondered how it would have been like if she was here with him right now. Maybe she'd kiss him on his cheek, play with his curls or simply hug him, telling him that he was more than capable to be in the internship.

_Once again, Peter unzipped his backpack and sneakily extended his arms to rub Tuffy’s ears_

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Pepper glared at Tony, hands crossed over her chest, frowns plastered on her face clearly unhappy with the man sitting in front of her. 

“I can tell that you aren’t happy with me, not like this was the first time but..what can I do for you today Miss potts?” 

Tony smirked, reaching his arms up in an attempt to pat her shoulders. 

“Seriously Tony? you think this is a joke? for Pete’s sake you graduated from MIT at the age of 15, is it that difficult for you to just read through the profiles of the students to shortlist them for the interviews?” 

“Sorry what now? the last time I recalled, I hired a personal assistant like you to complete odd jobs like this for me. You know I’m a busy person pep, I don’t have time to look through photos after photos of bratty and hormonal teenagers and neither do I have time to be bothered about their measly achievements.”

“I already went through 300 profiles, Tony. Even narrowed it down to 10 applicants because I knew you wouldn’t bother otherwise! Can’t you just do me a favour and choose 5 students from these profiles?” 

“You know I’m handing over my role as a CEO of stark industries to you in a week time Pepper, do you not agree that you should be the one making the final choice huh? since we’re already down to-- Hey! get back here, where do you think you’re going with my morning coffee Ms Potts” 

Pepper rolled her eyes, knowing that the conversation would not go anywhere if she tried to talk things out with Tony. Yanking the cup of coffee away from him, she marched out of his room.

“You aren’t getting any coffee until you give me 5 applicants Tony, by 4 pm tonight, sharp. In case you forgot that we are supposed to notify the shortlisted student’s respective schools by tomorrow. Please just give them a chance, those kids are great, some even better than you.” 

Tony grumbled as he accepted the stack of documents Pepper shoved to him. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Anthony Edward Stark’s life was pretty much mundane for the most part, sure, he had all the money to buy the cars, expensive gadgets and even woman if he wanted to. 

But no amount of lavish goods and ridiculously flashy parties could fill the void in his heart. 

Things weren't going to get any better, especially when he was about to move to the Malibu penthouse, upon stepping down as a CEO of stark industries. He would be living all alone, doing most of his work at home and only occasionally visiting New York for press conferences or gala parties if needed. 

Since young, an innate part of him always longed to care for someone. 

Someone who would be emotionally dependant on him, be it for love or affection. 

As he got older, those feelings seemed to get stronger instead of fading away. Wanting the person to depend on him for each and every need, even for the most basic of things. Just like a young child, unable to survive without their parents. 

Lazily, Tony flipped through the profiles, none of the students seemed to impress him enough so far.

Until a single profile caught his eye. 

Immediately, he tore the piece of paper from the stack, detaching it so he could get a closer look. It wasn't the perfect academic records the kid had, scoring straight A's for every subject no matter how minor it was. 

But instead, it was the profile picture that seemed to grasp his attention.

The picture wasn’t the best of quality, slightly pixelated and clearly taken in a classroom setting with a phone. Unlike the others who had a professional photoshoot, with well-groomed hair and a suit.

_It didn’t matter to Tony though, because the boy on the photo - Peter Parker was perfect. _

Big brown doe eyes, matching his soft curly brown hair. Pale skin that accentuate his slightly flushed cheeks from the cold winter wind, accompanied by a slightly pursed lip. And what made him irresistibly cute was the Midtown high hoodie he wore, albeit too large for his small frame, forming sweater paws. 

Tony had finally found that ‘someone’ he was missing in life, the one who would fill the void in his heart. 

With that, he randomly plucked out 5 profiles from the stack, tossed the remaining into the trash and placed Peter’s profile into the drawer. 

“FRIDAY, give me every information you can find on Peter Parker” In a single second, Peter’s whole life was flashed in front of Tony through multiple holographic screens. 

The teen’s tragic situation made Tony fall in love with him even more.

The poor kid lost his parents at the tender age of 4, subsequently taken in by his aunt and uncle. Who had both died as well due to a car accident and a robbery respectively. It broke Tony’s heart to think that he had to be orphaned at 15, ending up in a group home without a proper parent.

He knew he had no time to waste, there was so much to do to if he was going to welcome Peter to his new home. 

_In 2 weeks time, his little boy would be spoilt rotten, showered with all the love and attention he deserved and given a proper childhood for the second time by his daddy. Tony was going to make sure of that _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Come home, Peter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks ya'll for all the bookmarks, comments and kudos!  
This chapter was pretty hellish for me, I nearly died from the secondhand embarrassment at the last part. Poor Peter  
Also, take note that this fic is a no power AU ( because Peter would have beaten Tony to a pulp if he had his Spidey powers )  
As usual, feel free to leave comments (and questions if you have any!)

"I can't believe you weren't picked man, Stark Industries doesn't know what they are missing out, I mean seriously? They picked Flash instead of you?"

Ned rolled his eyes at Flash, who was proudly showing off his letter of acceptance at the corner of the classroom.

"It's fine, Ned, he might be a jerk, but maybe he does deserve it. I never expected to be chosen anyway."

With MJ, Ned and Mr Wilson's encouragement, a small part of him begun to think that maybe, just maybe he was capable of qualifying for the internship. Perhaps he could have been something else other than a 15-year-old orphaned kid from queens, but Peter was proven wrong, he would be nothing more than that it seems.

Peter was ashamed of having such a hope in the first place.

"Come on, don't say that Peter, just because you weren't picked, doesn't mean you aren't my smartest friend anymore. Besides, now that we are both free for next summer break, we could both get a part-time job or something. You know, for some extra cash." 

"Thanks, Ned, we should totally get that new Lego death star kit with that cash."

Peter strained his voice to sound as enthusiastic as he could, not wanting to worry Ned and dampen the mood. Truthfully, the internship wasn't the only reason why he was feeling rather glum. The skies were a little on the dark side today, clear signs that it would soon lead to a downpour judging by the recent weather. 

Rainy days didn't used to bother Peter too much, at most he'd just have troubles leaving his bed in the morning and feeling drowsy, forcing May to drag him out of bed on school days. 

_ Just like how it was on that fateful day. _

Since that accident, things were not quite the same. Often, Peter would be forced to think about aunt May, a painful reminder that the accident has happened and that he would never get to see her again. 

Survivor's guilt seemed to weigh down Peter on such weathers, and on particularly bad days, it sometimes lead to nightmares and panic attacks. A logical part of him knew he should have consulted Mr Wilson to seek professional help. But as usual, Peter could never bring himself to do that. 

Knowing that there were eight other kids who each had their own issues that lead them to the group home, it just wasn't fair for the other kids if he had to receive special treatment and attention from his foster parents. If they were able to handle things on their own, he could too. 

_No, he had to._

Giving Tuffy a tight squeeze through his backpack, Peter tried to snap out from his thoughts, joining Ned and MJ's conversation while stuffing a bland tasting nugget into his mouth. It would be a long day ahead, with decathlon practices after school, a particularly important one since competitions were just a week away. 

Peter had been absent from school until today, after getting caught in the rain and catching a cold as a result. He just couldn't afford to miss any more practices or get distracted.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The past two weeks had been a hectic one for Tony, spending most of his time at the Malibu penthouse to prepare for Peter's arrival. The gym and guest room, both of which were the closest to his bedroom were torn down to make space for Peter. Stripping down the wallpapers and removing all the furniture and equipments, the room was completely bare in a single day. Those things were too mature to match Peter's room theme, and he did not want his little boy to get hurt from the gym equipment. Tony went all out, from hiring the most renowned interior designers, paying them a hefty sum of money to get him prioritized, to making sure all of Peter's furniture was custom made. 

Every corner of the two rooms screamed expensive by the time they were completed at the end of the two weeks. Tony was a billionaire after all, the amount of money spent had barely made a dent in his bank account. Money was no object, and he wanted to make sure the rooms were perfect, with no details left behind.

Tony loved the simplistic look of a Scandinavian style nursery, hence converting the guest room into one. The lower half of the walls were painted in a relaxing shade of pale greyish blue, and the top half was white, decorated with little stars matching the soft carpet spreading across the room. At the corner of the nursery was a door that leads to the walk-in closet, meant to store the heaps of clothing Tony bought to accommodate every weather and season, making sure his little boy was comfortable all year round. 

But perhaps Tony's favourite part of the nursery was the custom made crib, designed to be large enough for Peter and tall enough to pick him up easily. Made with sturdy wood painted in white, the crib was placed against the wall, decorated with felt star garlands and wall decals with his name. The sheets, pillowcase and blanket also matched the overall starry theme of the nursery, complete with a night light that doubled as a projector. 

Although it wasn't the most pleasant of sight, restraints had to be added to strap Peter down during bedtime or whenever he was unattended, at least for the first few months until he has accepted his new life. Tony could not let Peter escape, for this was something he wanted all his life. Now that it was going to happen, he needed to make sure there were no chances of losing his precious little boy. 

The gym, which was one of the largest rooms in the penthouse, was converted into a playroom. Since Peter would be spending most of his time here while awake, the room was made as comfortable as it could get, with plenty of sunlight and activities for him to do.

Most of the toys were neatly tucked away in cube shelves, and some of them, which Tony thought Peter would particularly enjoy, were placed openly on the racks. There were shelves after shelves of picture and interactive books, bedtime stories were a must every night and he wanted Peter to be spoilt with choices. Tony loved how the colours of the books, toys and art supplies popped and stood out against the simple off white walls of the playroom

One corner of the room had a loft area, with an indoor slide leading to ball pit and ladder attached to it. The bottom part of the loft was what the man had put much effort on though, knowing that Peter wouldn't want to play with any of the toys or slides for the first few months. Mounting a large LCD TV on the wall and filling the area with pillows, blankets and bean bags, he created a cosy spot for Peter to have his quiet time.

As much as Tony wanted to keep things pleasant for Peter, he inevitably had to open up a small bathroom and made that into what he referred to as a "time out room." With nothing but a mattress and a blanket, the room was intended to lock Peter in for extended period of days if he acted out badly. Although Tony wished he never had to use that room, he knew isolation was one of the best punishments to keep Peter in line as well as allowing him to regress further.

Now that everything was ready, all he had to do was to wait for Peter's arrival. Ever since the two weeks was up, Happy had been following around Peter every day, looking for an appropriate time to take him. 

They planned to ambush and corner him down at a deserted alleyway where he would pass by every day on his way to home. But the past few days were unsuccessful. Happy waited all day at the alley in his car, but Peter was nowhere to be found. Tony quickly deduced that the kids had fallen ill, taking his leave from school. He didn't mind too much though, the plan was perfect, and it was only a matter of time. Peter couldn't possibly avoid school forever.

Each day while waiting for Happy's phone call, Tony would often tour around the two rooms, checking for any imperfections or last-minute changes. Today was one of the many days.

_ That, however, changed quickly into one of the most memorable days in the man's life when he heard a familiar buzzing sound from his pocket. _

Fishing out the phone, a disgruntled looking picture of Happy appeared on screen, accompanied with a swipe to answer call button. The man has never once contacted Tony after every unsuccessful day, and receiving a call from him only meant one thing.

"Tony, good news, I got the kid. He's in the car with me now, give me a few hours and we'll be there."

With that, Tony nodded, briefly thanking Happy before sliding the phone back into his pocket. Though he knew that this day would come, it still felt so surreal to him. Soon, Peter would be his little boy, all for himself to love and care. That thought itself, made Tony's heart swell with joy; every extra moment spent waiting for him for the past few days was now all worth it.

Gently shutting the door, Tony headed out to the nursery to grab a pair of pyjamas and a towel for Peter. It was pouring outside, and he certainly did not want his poor boy to catch another cold. Laying out the items on the changing table, Tony waited nervously, pacing back and forth in the living room to wait for Happy and Peter.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Today didn't seem to be one of the best days for Peter, apart from the rain, Flash had openly mocked him regarding the internship during decathlon practice. Though he wasn't surprised since Flash always had a one-sided rivalry towards him since elementary school.

Utterly drained, Peter slumped on the school bench with Ned. Accompanying him until his mom, who insisted on driving Ned back home since the rain was getting heavy, came to fetch him.

By the time decathlon practise had ended, the rain had gotten so heavy to the point where the field was starting to flood. Peter groaned, knowing that his shoes would most definitely end up muddy by the time he reached home. Rainy days were never an issue for him back then, Ned's mom would graciously offer a ride to Peter, since they lived closeby, dropping him off at his apartment in Queens.

Things were different now; however, the group home was opposite from where Ned lived, and he couldn't possibly trouble Ned's mom to drop him off at his current home. But deep down, Peter knew the real reason why did he not want a ride. 

It was the simple fact that he was terrified of getting into a car, especially on a rainy day. Peter knew that it was ridiculous, ever since that accident, he has never stepped foot into a vehicle, as though he could avoid getting into one for the rest of his life. But the last time he tried to overcome his fears, he ended up having a full-blown panic attack in the middle of the train station.

Hence when Mrs Leeds arrived, Peter politely rejected her offer to drop him off at his group home — not wanting her to end up dealing with him in such a state. Thanking her nonetheless, he left the school compound hoping to get home as soon as he could, it was close to 7:30, and Mr Wilson would be worried sick if all nine kids weren't back by then. 

Peter particularly disliked the alleyway he inevitably had to pass by to get home. The street lights were dim, and the pavement seemed like it hasn't been cleaned for years. Trying to avoid chewed up gum and spit, Peter gingerly tiptoed his way through the pavement.

\-- Until his concentration was abruptly broken by a piercing noise.

_ An unpleasant loud screech pierced through his ears, followed by honking noises which seemed to be coming from multiple vehicles, causing Peter to sink on the dirty pavement and instinctively cover his ears. _

Peter knew all too well what had happened; he could easily guess that the screech was from a skidding car tyre, just a few blocks away. Most likely caused by the downpour. In a matter of seconds, Peter's breathing sped up along with his pounding heart. Violently clawing at his hoodie as his chest felt tighter, hot tears streaming down his cheek.

In an attempt to regain his composure, Peter tried to comprehend what was happening.

_He was having a panic attack._

Peter fumbled around the broken zipper, trying to pull out Tuffy from his backpack, ultimately failing to do so as his motor skills seemed non-existent in his panicked state. Just as the teen felt like he was about to pass out from hyperventilating, a voice called out to him.

"Kid! are you alright!?"

Peter turned his head upwards, looking away from the ground.

A man, slightly on the larger side clad in a suit, stood in front of him with a worried expression. Though the alleyway was a shady area, Peter had a feeling that the guy in front of him wasn't a random street thug that was about to beat him up, or at least he knew the man wasn't hostile. As the man embraced him into a hug, Peter allowed himself to collapse against his large chest.

"Oh god, okay, I need you to take a deep breath, count to 3 and slowly breath out with your eyes closed."

Peter did as instructed.

_ 1... _

_ 2... _

_ 3... _

_ "Alright, you're doing well, can you do that one more time for me?" _

_ 1… _

_ 2… _

Before Peter could count to the 3rd mark, he felt a sudden prick on his neck. From the shock, he tried to push himself away from the man's chest, only to get gripped tighter as he weakly thrashed around. Unable to move away or notice the strange sensation spreading from the neck to the rest of his body.

"Sorry kid, it's what I do."

The man weekend his grip, arms still wrapped around Peter's head and torso. Noticing that the man wasn't holding him as tight as before, Peter tried to move away, picking his legs up. 

"Wha-what's happening?"

But instead, his legs felt numb, in fact, all four of his limbs were practically powerless. Before Peter could analyze the situation, his body collapsed once again on the man's chest - this time against his will. 

"Tony, good news, I've got the kid."

Peter's eyes filled with terror as his lids closed shut upon hearing those words. Much to his dismay, his consciousness slowly began to fade and eventually, he plummeted into darkness. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The familiar chime of doorbell rang, causing Tony to stand up from the couch, with a jolt. Taking a deep breath, he reached out for the doorknob, draping the large towel around his neck, all ready for Peter. 

The man's eyes widened at the sight, gasping in awe.

Happy stood in front of the front door, drenched in the rain with a small boy on his arms who was no doubt, Peter Benjamin Parker. 

_ God, the little boy, was just so precious. _

Tony recalled how he had been gazing through the pictures of Peter, retrieved by FRIDAY on a daily basis. Each time filling his heart with paternal love, wanting to protect the child at all costs.

But seeing him in real life at this moment, brought the experience to another level. Slowly, Tony reached out to the sleeping boy, gently stroking his cheeks and brushing off the wet locks of curls draped on his eyelids. He looked so much smaller compared to what he saw in the photos. Poor Peter's damp skin was as cold as ice, clothes covered in dirt and grime. The kid had collapsed on the pavement from a panic attack, according to Happy. 

Gesturing Happy to hand Peter over to him, Tony wrapped his little boy with the fuzzy towel and carried him into the house, bridal style. Peter was put down on the changing table, his sodden hoodie and jeans removed, revealing his pale white skin. Tony frowned at the sight; it was the middle of November and the boy wasn't wearing any extra layers! No wonder he had caught a cold. 

"Oh, poor baby... it must have been so cold out there, huh?"

Tony whispered while leaning forward to Peter, ruffling his hair and wiping down his body dry with a towel. 

Dressing him in a long-sleeved striped pyjama top, Tony gently grabbed both ankles with one hand and unfolded a diaper with the other. He slid it under Peter's bum and fastened the tapes shut, making sure the fit was snug around his tummy. Tony knew the boy would freak out in the morning and wouldn't be pleased, but this would be Peter's new life. He would have to get used to it, like it or not.

Pulling up the matching pyjama pants, Tony lifted Peter off the changing table and carried him over to the crib. Even with the sudden movement, Peter showed no signs of waking up, snoring peacefully in the larger men's arms. The sedative drugs from earlier seemed to do its job well. Once he was settled into the crib, Tony strapped him down with the restraints for the night. By now, Peter's body was no longer cold, his soft cheeks returning to its original rosy shade. Tony smiled at the sight, covering Peter with the blanket, he patted the boy's tummy one last time before stepping out of the nursery.

Tony was slightly bummed by the fact that he had to be stern with Peter for the next few weeks or even month, truthfully he wanted to coddle and spoil his little boy as soon as he could. But he knew that it was an inevitable phase and the more firm he was, the quicker Peter would be his sweet little boy. 

Closing the nursery door shut, Tony retreated to his bedroom. Much like Peter, he needed a good nights rest to prepare himself, both mentally and physically for the boy's first day tomorrow in his new home.

  
  
  
  



	3. Tony fucking Stark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains non-con spanking, do press the back button if you are uncomfortable with such scenes!  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
This chapter took me a while to get completed! Mostly because school had just started and open house preparations took up most of my time this week.  
But hey, this one is slightly longer than the other 2 chapters so I guess that makes up for the delay!
> 
> My initial plan was to make this a little introduction on how a typical day would go about for Peter but the breakfast and spanking scene ended up being longer than I thought :p so I guess I'll wrap this chapter up till nap time and the rest of the day would be pushed back to the next chapter. As always, feel free to leave comments!

There were three instances where Peter may have been a little too gullible.

_ Once, _ when a cheerleader girl asked him out on a homecoming date, only to realize that it was a crude joke and made a laughing stock in front of everyone. 

_ Second, _ when he made friends with a boy named Quentin in middle school, they seemed to get along well and by the end of the first week, Peter was convinced that they were the best of friends.- It took him another week to find out that Quentin was working hand in glove with Flash.

Together, they shoved Peter into the locker for the rest of the gym class and caused the poor teen to inevitably wet his pants, leaving him with degrading nicknames that stuck with him throughout middle school.

_ And the third time? _ Was when Peter had allowed a stranger to approach him at such a vulnerable state amid a panic attack, believing that he wasn't hostile based on his looks.

Which lead him to_ this_ very situation.

Peter reluctantly pulled his heavy lids open, not wanting to realize how much he had fucked up. Clearly, some sort of drug was administered to him by the man last night, judging by how his limbs had given in and eventually succumbing into unconsciousness.

The first thing Peter saw was the white ceiling, followed by the strange bars that were surrounding him. From the bars, he briefly thought he might have ended up in a cell after being drugged, but that thought was quickly brushed off and replaced with confusion when Peter turned his head around to study the area further.

For starters, the room was huge, enough to put both of his old apartment and his current group home in shame. Followed by the freshly painted greyish blue walls, decors and the small couch placed at the corner, which looked like they were bought just yesterday.

The teen wasn't sure where he was, but he knew this place looked nothing like the musty bare concrete room one would expect to end up in when they are kidnapped. This place, on the other hand, was the polar opposite. Everything was too new, spotless and untouched. 

"What the- what?"

Peter's confusion, however, quickly shifted to terror once he attempted to sit up. With a faint clicking of metal and the sound of straining fabric, he was shot back down to bed; it was then that he realized the cuffs, attached to both of his wrists had stopped him from sitting up.

From how the room looked, the teen had a small glimpse of hope that maybe, this was a mistake, perhaps he had been saved by someone and had ended up in this rather homey looking place. That hope however, quickly withered into nothingness, now that all four of his libs were restraint. Peter had no other choice but to accept the fact that he was kidnapped.

Fortunately for Peter, the material of the cuffs felt weightless around his wrists. The teen yanked and tugged around the restraints, hoping that he would tear off if he had applied enough force to it.

"For Pete's sake! what is this even made of?"

It took another 10 minutes of struggling to realize that the cuffs were impossible to break free, the only progress made was that the blanket draped on top of had slightly shifted, revealing the white pyjama top. By now, the teen was exhausted, though he wasn't too sure if it was due to the struggling or the stress. Letting out a loud groan, Peter plopped his head on the soft surface. 

Peter regretted his actions when he realized that the groan was loud enough to alert his captor's attention. Within seconds, he could hear the faint shuffling of feet, slowly getting louder by the second. Panic-stricken, he clenched his eyes shut, as he prayed that the footsteps would stop, hoping that his captor would leave him alone while he figured out a way to get out of this situation.

Eventually, the footsteps did come to a halt. To the teen’s dismay, the door creaked open, followed by a gentle shut. Through his heightened senses from stress, Peter could feel a presence looming over him even with his eyes closed, evident that his captor was now right beside him.

"Good morning Petey, did you have a good night's rest?"

Peter raised a brow at the odd-sounding voice. The tone was rather gentle, almost sounding like a coo, just like how one would use on a baby.

"Come on, sweetie; it's okay."

It wasn't the gentle voice, albeit strange in this situation that caused Peter to open his eyes, the teen flinched violently, upon feeling a sudden pat on his head followed by fingers running through his curls. Instinctively, Peter let out a loud gasp, jerking in his bonds, frightened eyes looking up to the source of the touch. 

_ What the fuck- _

"T-Tony Stark?"

_ Peter did a double-take when his eyes met those of a man with a distinguished goatee. _

_ Genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, the man who had everything in life, the man who inspired him to spark an interest in science and the ex CEO of the company who rejected him for an internship just a day ago. _

"That is correct, Peter, but you are not to refer me by that title. It's Daddy, and I'll only say it once."

It was hard for Peter to believe that the earlier voice was coming from the same man. Tony had the sternest face, enough for the teen to shrink back, biting his lips in fear.

He knew that Tony Stark was an intimidating man, judging by how aggressive he was on some occasions with the press. Still, no amount of binge-watching sessions on Tony's documentaries with Ned could prepare Peter from the pair of piercing eyes. The teen felt nauseous from a mixture of fear and confusion, unable to conclude on why was he strapped down in a room by Tony Stark demanding to be referred at daddy.

"L-look s-sir, I'll apologize if I had done something to offend you, p-please just let me go!" Peter wasn't sure what the apology was for, but he'd do anything at this moment to convince the man to set him free.

"What did I just say about addressing me?" Displeased with the response, Tony gave the frightened teen a hard look.

Clearly, this had to be some bad joke, he wished he could have laughed at how ridiculous the demand was, but the icy glare from the man had proven Peter otherwise. The teen looked away uncomfortably, for if stares could kill, he would have dropped dead on the spot. 

"I expect a response, Peter. You are to call me Daddy from now with no exceptions, is that understood?"

Tony crouched down further, extending his arms into the crib and cupped one side of Peter's cheek, forcing him to look into the man's directions. The poor teen's eyes brown eyes filled with fright. MJ had told him that years ago, Stark Industries used to manufacture weapons for the government, leaving the man with the infamous nickname 'Merchant of death' Peter knew better than to end up on the man's bad side if he wanted to make it out alive.

"Y-yes, d-daddy."

Peter squeaked, swallowing down his pride, along with the bile that was threatening to rise up from his throat. He could have sworn that he would have thrown up if it weren't for the missed dinner last night.

"That's a good boy, now that wasn't so hard, was it?" Tony's stern expression quickly eased up, replaced with a smile. The cooing voice returned, causing Peter to cringe, although he preferred that to the intimidating tone from before. 

"Now, let's get you out of that crib, up we go!"

Peter's eyes widened at the comment, so the bars looming over him were the sides of the crib? God, things were just getting worse by the minute! he would very much rather be locked up in a cell than a fucking crib. 

Just as Peter attempted to protest, demanding the crazed the man for an explanation, he was taken aback by a sudden whirring sound followed by the lowering of the side rail. The restraints came loose, allowing Tony to undo them. He slid both arms under Peter's armpits, lifting him up and settling him by the hips. Peter's jaws dropped in horror at his new position, partly because he was carried like a toddler but mostly due to the fact that Tony has lifted and held him as though he weighed nothing.

"Wait, no! please let me go!" Peter squirmed, trying to break free from Tony's tight grip. 

"Peter! Hold still! You're going to fall and hurt yourself."

With a firm swat delivered on his bottom, Peter immediately froze from the shock. Tony huffed a sigh a satisfaction, taking advantage of the brief moment of distraction, he shifted his arms around slightly for a steadier grip and proceeded to walk towards the door.

Though it had hardly hurt, the teen raised a brow at the sound that followed with the swat, it sounded rather dull, instead of the sharp sound he was expecting, recalling how May used to smack him on the bottom as a reminder whenever he acted out. 

Before Peter could wrap his head around on what might have caused the unfamiliar sound, his thoughts were quickly interrupted when Tony carried him towards the hallway. Peter looked back, wanting to have a full view of the room, and gaped in horror at the sight before him. No wonder Tony had talked down to him like a baby and strapped him down on a crib! It turns out, the room he had woken up to was a fully furnished nursery.

The crib he had been laying down was huge, complete with a changing table at the corner. The wall where the crib was placed against on was decorated with his name, which implied that the room was made for Peter in mind. It was evident that the nursery couldn't have been done overnight and the teen shuddered at the thought, just how long had Tony been planning to kidnap him? 

"Come on Petey. I bet you're hungry, huh? let's go fill your tummy with some food." 

Tony chimed, gently rubbing the teen's stomach with his free hand. The man seemed to be stronger than he thought, Peter was carried effortlessly across the hallway and eventually reached a glass panelled lift. A lift in the house? How rich could this man get? Peter was further surprised once Tony had entered the elevator, glancing at the control panel, the teen quickly deduced that the house was five stories high and the nursery was located at the 3rd floor. 

As the lift slowly descended, Peter could see the overall layout of the lavish-looking home through the glass panels. There were gyms, recreational areas and even a bar; the teen hoped that these facilities were built for Tony himself, escaping was going to be a pain in the ass if other residents were roaming around. 

Upon reaching the first floor, the lift came to a halt, Tony, with Peter still in his arms headed to the left side where the kitchen and dining room was located. The dining room would have looked normal if it weren't for the obnoxious looking chair placed among the other normal-looking ones.

"Alright baby boy, up we go!"

Tony loosened his tight grip and slid Peter into the high chair, before locking the tray into place and strapping the harness. Once the man had made sure the straps were secure enough, he disappeared into the kitchen leaving the now dumbfounded teen behind.

Peter blushed furiously, from the adult-sized crib to the highchair, how on earth did Tony get his hands on such things? Were there companies out there equally messed up as him producing them? The thought alone made him sick. 

Peter shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he waited for Tony to return - about a minute ago, he realized that his lower half felt a little... _damp_.

Which was strange, considering the cold weather, it was unlikely that the dampness was from sweat. Peter quickly snapped out from his thoughts when Tony had returned, with two plates carefully balanced on his hands, one of which was plain white, while the other was the most hideous looking plate Peter had ever seen. With a bright shade of blue, shaped to look like a car, the plastic plate was clearly meant for a toddler.

At this point, Peter knew which of the two plates were meant for him. 

Tony placed both plates down on the table, shifting his chair closer as he sat right beside Peter. "Here you go sweetie, oh, your new plate is so cool!" The man ruffled Peter’s hair and spoke with an overly enthusiastic tone, as he set the blue plate on the removable table attached to the highchair. Together with an equally childish-looking set of cutlery and a sippy cup filled with juice. 

Despite the awful looking plate and utensils, Peter was slightly relieved when he realized both of their dishes were loaded with the same food. The egg toast, sausages and the small bowl of fruit salad topped with a spoonful yoghurt looked appetizing enough for Peter's stomach to start rumbling. Hesitantly, the teen reached for the fork while eyeing Tony with slight suspicion. The food had better not be poisoned or laced with some drugs.

"Silly baby, you can't feed yourself just yet."

Peter's wrist was held firmly, but gently by Tony's hand just as he was about to grab ahold of the fork; he gave the man a confused look, Peter was 15, of course he could feed himself! 

The teen's face sunk at the sight of Tony taking the fork from his hands, proceeding to cut the food into bite-sized pieces. Once the food was small enough for his standards, the man wasted no time in bringing the piece of toast towards Peter's pursed lips. 

"Please, I'm not a baby..." Peter mumbled weakly.

"Would you rather have a bottle of formula for breakfast?" Tony asked as he lowered his tone, making a point that he wasn't buying for any negotiations.

That seemed to do the trick as Peter hung his face in defeat, opening his lips gingerly as the small piece of toast was shoved down into his mouth. As much as the feeding was mortifying, Peter knew that suckling from a baby bottle was far worse, and he would gladly choose the former while he still had the choice.

The rest of breakfast went smoothly, apart from the awkward silence which Tony didn't seem to mind too much. Peter, on the other hand, appreciated the silence, for he was on his wits end. Another word from Tony would have sent him into tears.

After a pat on the head and praise for finishing his food like a good boy, Peter was once again brought up to the 3rd floor, expecting to be placed back into the nursery. Tony, however, walked past and stopped in front of another room. Settling Peter on his feet, the man gleefully opened the door.

It never occurred to Peter that a simple breakfast could drain him so much, both physically and emotionally. By now, the teen was exhausted, not bothering to react when the huge playroom was revealed before his eyes.

"Let's get a stuffed toy before we go back to your nursery, Petey. I think you need a little nap."

A stuffed toy? Just how much was the man going to treat him like a Toddler! Peter was glad Tony wasn't aware of how he snuck Tuffy to school every da-- _ Tuffy! _

_ Oh, God! how could he ever forget!? The last time Peter could recall, he was trying to take out Tuffy from his bag during a panic attack and then---- _

"E-Excuse me?" Peter called out, voice shaking in panic.

"What is it, sweetheart?" Tony glanced back at Peter as he dragged out the toy box filled with stuffed toys for his little boy to pick.

"H-Have you seen my backpack? I had it with me last night."

"Oh, you mean that worn-out bag? I got my bodyguard to dispose of it while you were sleeping last night. All of your belongings were dirty and drenched sweetie."

"It-It's just that- i."

"Nothing important in there am I right? just a couple of textbooks, lab goggles and stationeries. Unless… there was something else in particular that you wanted to keep?" Tony raised his brows, prompting Peter to complete his sentence. 

As a matter of fact, the man was fully aware of what the teen was after, recalling how a grubby stuffed bear was wrapped up with a lab coat amongst his other belongings. No teenager would intentionally bring a well-used teddy bear that would take up so much space without a good reason, and Tony instantly knew he had discovered Peter's dirty secret.

The teen was clearly shaken by Tony's reply, but what he wasn't told was that the stuffed toy was now freshly cleaned, placed at the top of the man's work desk waiting to reunite with its owner.

The privilege however, had to be earned. Tony wanted Peter to use his own words - to admit the fact that he still carried a toy along with him for emotional comfort. But knowing that Peter would be stubborn for the first few days, the reply that followed came as no surprise to the man.

"I-I, never mind, it's nothing…" Peter repeatedly blinked, holding back the tears threatening to spill out of his eyes. The only thing keeping the tears at bay was his pride, Peter could not cry in front of his kidnapper, knowing that Tony would be beyond pleased to comfort him in the most babyish way imaginable, especially if he knew that Peter was weeping over a Teddy bear.

"Don't worry baby. Daddy's got a bunch of new books and cool art supplies for you, much better than those boring old ones. Alright, take your pick!" Tony smiled as the box full of stuffed toys were placed in front of Peter.

The dejected teen signed as he reached into the box to grab a stuffed elephant. Peter desperately needed some alone time to let out his feelings, and the sooner the man was appeased, the quicker he could be left in his 'room'.

"That's a good choice. I guess now you're all set for a nap, huh?" Tony cooed, picking Peter up as he headed for the nursery, gently shutting the playroom door on his way out. 

Peter had been so busy controlling his tears, that it took a full minute to realize that he was laid down on the changing table, instead of the crib. Before he could jolt up in shock, Tony pushed the teen down, strapping him in place with the harness attached to the table.

"Not so fast Petey, I know you're tired, but you need a diaper change first, we don't want a nasty rash."

Peter's heart stopped, face paling as the words slowly sank in. The dampness he felt during breakfast, the dull sound when Tony had smacked him on the bottom, everything seemed to fall into place. 

"wh-what? you can't be serious!" 

"Shh baby, hold still, it'll be all over real quick" Tony seemed unmoved by Peter's distress as he swiftly yanked the pyjama bottom down.

The teen could feel his stomach twist when the plain white diaper, snugly wrapping his lower half was revealed before his eyes. What exacerbated the situation was the strip of line running in the middle -- _the wetness indicator had turned mostly from yellow to blue, a telltale sign that the diaper was in fact, soaked. _

Fear seemed to vanish together with the realization; Peter was now furious, sure, he was bullied and made fun of for the most part of his life. By now, he was desensitized to most things, being able to endure the cruellest jokes, name-calling and physical torment. But this? This was too much. 

"Don't you dare fucking touch me!" Peter snapped. This man, Tony Stark had plucked him out from his life by force, treated him like a toddler for his enjoyment, Peter wasn't a bed wetter, and he knew that Tony had most definitely done something to his body. 

"Peter! we do not use such words in this house, you've been warned, keep going and there will be consequences" Tightening his grip around Peter's thigh, Tony spoke calm and low, voice filled with threat 

"Consequences?" Peter snorted, "You're a lunatic Tony fucking Stark! The only person who needs to face one is you!"

The teen spared no effort in conveying his anger as he screamed and thrashed around the restraints, making it clear that he was no longer putting up with the man's sick antics. 

"I would stop right there if I were you, Peter" furrowing his brows, Tony attempted to unfasten the tabs of the diaper, until, a blunt kick was delivered to his right arm. The man was taken aback, stumbling backwards briefly but quickly recovered. 

"That's it!" Ripping apart the diaper, Tony grabbed both of Peter's ankles by one hand and struck his bare bottom by the other. 

The slap was painful enough to startle the teen into silence, heaving and panting as he laid limply on the changing table. The adrenaline rush from before seemed to dwindle, along with the sting slowly spreading across his bottom where it had been struck.

Peter could no longer contain his emotional turmoil; the first few drops of tears welled up and fell from his eyes, rolling down his flushed cheeks. Soon enough, the silent room was filled with sobs and hiccups from the distraught teen, as Tony took his time to gently wipe Peter's privates, making sure his little boy was thoroughly cleaned. 

"I'm very disappointed in you young man" Tony signed as he unbuckled the straps, helping Peter down to his feet, lower half-naked to the teen's horror. 

"P-Please, may I have my pants back?" Poor Peter was shivering, cupping both hands to his crotch in a desperate attempt to save his dignity.

"You don't seem to understand, do you? I think you have earned yourself a well-deserved spanking Peter, come on now." grasping Peter's wrist tightly, this time, however, much less gently than usual, Tony led the teen back to the crib with the side rails still lowered down. Peter followed docility, clumsily wiping the tears away as he sniffled to himself - at least until he had heard the word _ 'spanking _.' 

"N-No, no, no, you can't! please, I'm sorry!" Blood drained from Peter's face as he stopped dead in his tracks. The single slap from Tony had hurt so bad, there was no way he'd be able to take a full-on spanking! Peter's pleas, however, fell into deaf ears as Tony simply lifted him off, carrying him to the crib. 

Tony sat on the edge of the crib, while Peter was forced to stand in front of him "Peter honey, look at me" holding out both of Peter's hand, Tony pulled the sobbing boy closer, in a way that he was held between the man's knees.

"I know everything might be a little overwhelming to you Peter, but the way you acted back there was unacceptable, would you like to tell daddy what you had done wrong sweetie?" Tony rubbed Peter's hand in gentle circles as he spoke in a consoling manner. 

Peter knew that the question wasn't an option but rather an order. Not wanting to enrage the man further, he blinked his eyes to clear his blurred sight, letting the tears that had accumulated flow down his cheeks, before opening his mouth reluctantly.

"I- I swore and kicked you...d-daddy" Peter croaked, letting out a loud hiccup. The last word made Peter grimace, it was uncomfortable, even sickening to refer the man by his 'proper' title, but the teen knew he had run out of options. If there was any way to convince Tony into giving him the slightest bit of mercy, it had to be this - no matter how degrading it was.

"Good boy." Tony gave a faint smile as he reached out to ruffle Peter's hair, thumbing away tears. "Since this is your first time, daddy will go slightly easier on you, alright?" rummaging his hands through the drawer placed beside the crib, Tony pulled out a wooden hairbrush. 

The man took a moment to swat the flat part of the brush against his open palms several times. Making sure he knew the exact amount of strength needed to teach his little boy a lesson without injuring him. "You'll get 30 strokes this time" Tony stated flatly, before tugging Peter towards himself, causing the teen to lose his balance and tumble over the man’s knee.

_ 30!? _ Peter could feel his heart stop for a moment as his eyes landed on the implement. The brush was huge, wide enough to cover one side of his cheeks. What terrified him more was the solid smack the brush gave out.

"No! Please, I said I was sor-!" Peter did not even get to finish his sentence as he was pulled across the man's lap. 

Wiping his tears for the last time, Tony settled Peter on his lap, grasping his wrists and pinning both hands to his back. "I know you are sweetheart, but that doesn't change the fact that you kicked and used a naughty word on daddy" With that, Tony held his arms up high as the solid brush was swung hard on Peter's pristine white bottom.

Peter momentarily gasped as the merciless swat was delivered on his bottom before bursting into tears, the pain was worse than he anticipated. Peter tightly grasped the bedsheets of the crib while biting on his lips, whimpering and sobbing relentlessly with every painful blow of the hairbrush.

Despite Peter's predicament, Tony showed no signs of holding back. Covering every inch of poor Peter's bottom with red splotchy marks, the solid wooden hairbrush was hammered mercilessly as he paused between each stroke, allowing the pain to spread across his bottom before replacing with another swat - making every stinging slap count.

"S-stop! p-please, It hurts!" Peter hiccupped, drawing in sharp breaths. He could practically feel his bottom swelling up, as the burning intensified with every passing minute. The pain, at this point, had become unbearable and Peter instinctively kicked his legs in a vain attempt to free himself.

"Ah, ah we're not quite done yet" Tony tutted as he locked Peter's flailing legs in between his thigh. "10 more to go, You're doing so well Peter" The last few strokes were as bad as it could get. Tony shifted Peter in a way that his glowing red bottom was raised slightly higher, focusing on the now exposed sit spots. The teen wailed at each strike, as the pain seemed to increase by tenfold, cries not seeming to die down. 

"Shh, all done Petey" After landing the brush hard and firm for the last time, Tony gently placed his hand on the sobbing teen's back, shifting his thighs away to free his legs. Peter, who was now crying miserably stayed limp and still, taking a moment to realize that his agony had finally ended.

Truthfully, Peter wanted to sit right back up and punch the man in the face with his newfound freedom, but his burning ass served as a reminder that 'acting out' would lead him to another round of spankings. And so, the teen had no other option but to sob in pain and humiliation, while Tony reached forward to pick up the bottle of aloe lotion placed on top of the drawer.

Peter tensed up in anticipation for another smack when Tony settled his hands on his bottom, but quickly relaxed when a cool substance was applied all over his sore skin. The lotion seemed to do wonders as it soothed the red marks left by the hairbrush, taking away the heat at the same time. 

"See Peter? This is what happens to naughty boys who throw tantrums and disrespect their daddies" Tony lectured while massaging the lotion on his butt cheeks.

It was a good thing that Peter was burying his face on the bedsheets, away from the man's sight or Tony would have seen his face crinkling in disgust. Who in the right mind would think that any 15 year old would willingly call his kidnapper daddy? Let alone be compliant when they were about to be forced into a fucking diaper? Considering the circumstances, Peter believed that resisting was the most natural reaction back there, but the fact that the man could regard his actions as a mere childish tantrum disgusted him to no ends.

Peter, however, had to quickly change is facial expression as he was pulled up into a sitting position, head resting against Tony's chest. "Shh... it’s okay, you're forgiven" a firm kiss was laid on top of the teen's head as he was embraced into a hug.

The rain of praises lasted for a full minute before Peter was placed back on the crib. Locking both of his wrists into place with the cuffs. Tony laid out a clean diaper and slid it under his bottom, which was thankfully, already starting to heal from to the lotion.

"Now, the drugs from yesterday will cause you to have accidents for a while, but there's nothing to be ashamed alright?" Tony stated, lightly sprinkling some baby powder to Peter's inner thighs and privates before fastening the diaper on snugly.

"Why are you doing this to me…" Peter could only let out a small whimper, as he drowned in his own humiliation. Tony chose not to answer his question, shushing him while pulling up the pyjama pants, and strapping the cuffs into place.

"Hush now sweetpea. You just rest here for a while, and daddy will go grab a towel to clean your little face real quick." Tony pulled the blue blanket up to Peter's chest and placed the stuffed elephant beside his neck before leaving the room.

And that's how Peter found himself to be in the exact position he woke up to earlier this morning. He laid down helplessly, staring at the ceiling while blinking slow and silent tears away.

Clenching and unclenching his hands, Peter wished he could haul the elephant onto the ground and stomp it until it ripped, or dump it into the trash can. Ever since May's passing, the teen felt like he had been losing things one after another, from his apartment in queens which he could call it home, to a caring parental figure.

And just when he thought that he had lost enough, his childhood idol had kidnapped him, simultaneously causing him to lose a normal life. There was no doubt that everyone, including Ned and MJ, was panicking by now. And if Mr Wilson had already contacted the police, he wasn't too sure if they'd be able to find him, knowing that Tony Stark would pull every connection he has to keep Peter's disappearance known to the public.

The teen missed everything, from the small bunk beds in the group home to the boring classes he had to attend with Ned. But perhaps what had upset him the most was the fact that Tony simply threw Tuffy out like it was garbage. The stuffed bear, albeit a little grimy from all the handling, had meant so much to him, being one of the last remaining relics of his past life - before he had lost aunt May, and way before he had ended up in this hellhole.

_ But now, that was gone too. _

Peter knew that it was incredibly foolish and infantile, laying down in a crib and completely losing his shit over a lost teddy bear. And yet, tears pricked in his eyes, Peter sniffled to keep his tears at bay but had ultimately failed. Once again, the teen was a sobbing mess.

The creaking of the door marked the end of his alone time, as Tony walked into the nursery, drawing the curtains before going over to Peter with a steamed towel in his hand.

"Oh, don't cry, baby. You must be all worked up huh? I'm sure a quick nap will fix you right up," Tony cooed as he reached out into the crib, wiping Peter's face, all messed up from a mixture of snot and tears, both fresh and dried up with the warm towel.

"I'll see you in an hour, good night Petey" Planting a soft kiss on his forehead for the last time, Tony raised the side rails of the crib. Upon placing his fingers on the fingerprint scanner attached to one of the bars, the safety lock, linked to the side rails and the restraints clicked into place.

By the time Tony had left the nursery, Peter was wholly wiped up of energy, barely able to lift a finger. All it took was a few minutes before his lids started to feel heavy, as it fluttered shut - and just like that, he was out like a light.

  
  



	4. The rashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! it's me again. Nothing much to say here, apart from 2 weeks hiatus I'll be on to study for my semester exams.  
As usual, do leave comments! I need them desperately to survive my revision period ahah.

"Peter, Petey, wake up," Tony whispered gently. "Come on. It's almost lunchtime" he adds, before setting his hands on the teen's tummy and patting it to coax him awake. Peter's eyes quickly snapped open at the voice and touch – a distressing reminder of the world he had been pulled into. 

Right...he was held captive by Tony Stark, got his ass spanked and cried himself to sleep just an hour ago. How could he forget?

"Feel better now, baby? I bet you had such a good nap, huh?" Tony asks, lowering the side rails and unlocking the cuffs. As much as he hated to admit, Peter did feel a lot better. The teen's eyes were noticeably less puffy, and amazingly enough, when Tony had placed his hands under his bottom for support as he was lifted out of the crib, his bottom did not hurt as much as he expected to.

"Did you go potty in your diaper sweetheart?" Peter was caught by surprise when a hand slid between his legs, squeezing his crotch firmly before Tony announced happily "hmm, looks like you're still dry, good job Peter!" The teen blushed furiously at the comment, the fact that Tony could praise him as though it was the biggest achievement yet was concerning and revolting. 

As Peter was carried down the hallway and into the lift, he could not help but to notice how firm and steady Tony's grip were. Although he was on the smaller side, carrying a 15-year-old with one hand wasn't an easy task. The mere thought of how the man could seriously hurt him if he wanted to was enough for Peter to gulp and stiffen in Tony's arm. 

Once the duo had reached the dining room, Peter was promptly strapped into the highchair. Tony seemed to be in a good mood, humming as he set the same childish-looking plate on the plastic table.

"What do we have here, Petey? Can you name them for me?" Tony asked.

What is he? Two? of course he could tell what was for lunch! Eyeing at the plate of tomato pasta and the bowl of vegetable soup, it took everything the teen had not to roll his eyes at the degrading comment. 

"Peter, I asked you a question." Tony narrowed his eyes slightly when the teen chose to look away in embarrassment instead of responding. "Only little babies aren't able to use their words Peter, is that what you are hm?"

Peter's eyes widened as his cheeks turned a deep scarlet._ Little baby? Oh, fuck, no!_

It was an obvious bait, but Peter takes it

"P-Pasta and soup…" The teen mumbled reluctantly, staring at the ground sheepishly to avoid any eye contact with Tony. 

"That's right, such a smart boy!" Satisfied with the answer, Tony proceeded to twirl the pasta around the fork. "Open up, sweetheart!"

The teen could only cross his arms in utter mortification, occasionally shifting uncomfortably in his high chair as Tony shoved spoonfuls of pasta into his mouth, alternating between the bowl of soup.

After what seemed like an eternity, both the bowl and plate was now empty. Finishing the last drop of water in his sippy cup, Tony scooped him out from the high chair and headed towards the lift with Peter in his arms.

Peter hated every moment of lunch and had let out a huge exhalation of pent up breath when it had finally ended.

– – 

After lunch was playtime, Peter was plopped down on the soft, colourful playmat while Tony made his way to the shelves to grab a bucket full of Lego blocks. Now that his mind was clearer from the nap, the teen took a moment to scan his surroundings. Much like the nursery, the playroom was massive, where every corner was filled with various toys. 

Peter wasn't impressed; however, most of the toys were too childish for his liking. No way in hell was the bead maze or the wooden stacking toy entertaining for him, and he certainly wasn't going to play with the massive adult-sized slide placed at the corner of the room either.

"Now, daddy has to finish up his work, so play nice, alright?" Peter was snapped out from his thoughts when Tony dumped the pile of blocks before him. The teen quickly frowned at the sight. 

The Legos looked nothing like the ones he used to build with Ned, instead of the little intricate pieces, these were chunky and bright coloured - _ lego duplos, _he assumed. 

After a stern warning and a reminder that he would be watched from the surveillance camera, Tony left the playroom. Good riddance. 

Truth to be told, Peter wanted nothing to do with the fucking legos, he was fully intent on sitting on the playmat like a fool until Tony had come to pick him up for whatever humiliating plans he had on his mind. 

But then again, minutes after minutes of sitting crossed-legged on the play mat, doing absolutely nothing proved to be a difficult task for the teen. Peter began to shake his legs in boredom and eventually, shifted his gaze to the pile of blocks before him. 

A particular piece, one of which was red with a pair of painted eyes, caught his attention, and slowly, Peter reached for the medium-sized block. 

The teen took a moment to study the piece and quickly figured out that the block was supposed to be made into a dog, according to the illustrations on the bucket. Inching forward, Peter rummaged through the pile and eventually pulled out the necessary pieces. 

A kid toy could entertain the teen for only so long; however, it took a mere 5 minutes of fiddling and assembling before the piece was completed, which was entirely expected.

Again, Peter had to remind himself that these were geared towards kids, unlike the 3803 piece lego death star kit he had bought with Ned, which took the both of them an entire summer break to complete.

Gruelling but satisfying, the complete opposite of what Tony had got for him. 

What he hadn't expected, however, was the reaction that followed. Sure, the cartoony expressions and details were childish without a doubt, but there was definitely something more, at least to Peter himself. The teen couldn't help but to smile softly at the plastic toy nested in his palms, it looked … rather cute, endearing almost. 

His eyes trailed at the rest of the pile, maybe he could build a house to go with it, Tony wouldn't be back for a while now, and he couldn't possibly watch his every move while he worked right? So maybe – 

_ No, nono this isn't right. _

Peter shook his head, smile fading away and replaced with a confused frown. _ God _, what was he thinking? Peter was 15 for fuck's sake! He shouldn't be playing with a bunch of kiddy toys, regardless of being watched or not. Peter clenched the lego dog once, before begrudgingly tossing it into the pile, the impact alone was enough for the lego dog to break apart, sending pieces everywhere. 

At this point, Peter no longer wanted to be in the playroom, even if it meant that he was left alone from his captor. He hated the toys, he hated Tony, and most importantly, he _ hated _himself for being kidnapped in the first place.

Seconds before the teen screamed out in frustration; his eyes landed on a particularly small corner of the room. The area, located below the loft had several bean bags, and a large blanket was strewn across the floor, which was rather plain looking in general. Not that Peter seemed to mind though, it seemed like the least childish place in the room, and this was exactly what he needed at this moment. 

Pushing aside the pile of lego blocks, Peter made his way to the corner and settled down on the blue bean bag. Almost immediately, he noticed the large LCD TV by the wall. Out of curiosity, the teen stood up and looked into the TV rack, hoping to find a remote control of some sort, but could find nothing.

Instead of looking further, he simply plopped back down onto the bean bag, dragging the blanket along with him. Though Peter was bored, he wanted to stay away from the man as long as he could, hence, calling out for Tony was out of the option, and quite frankly, the teen could easily predict the kind of shows he would be made to watch.

Perhaps something ridiculously childish or anything that was geared towards toddlers, Peter wasn't too sure, but the afternoon soap operas and bad reality shows? He knew for a fact that he wouldn't be watching such things for a very long time, or at least until he has managed to escape. 

And just like that, Peter could feel tears prickling his eyes. Not wanting to end up in another crying fit, the teen tried to focus on how he could make it through the rest of the day, and hopefully, how he could make a run for it if the chance ever came. 

For the next hour, Peter simply sunk into the bean bag, lost in his thoughts. A small part of him hoped that Tony would leave him like this for the whole day, spared from any further humiliations. 

Although he wasn't playing with any of the toys, which was probably what Tony expected him to do, this wasn't considered as 'acting out' or resisting. Surely Tony couldn't punish him for that right?

Before Peter could sink deeper into his thoughts, a sudden pressure, accompanied by a sharp twinge in his lower half interrupted him from doing so. 

He had to pee, and judging by how his bladder throbbed, it was urgent.

Peter stood up from the bean bag with a jolt, but before he could find a way to contact Tony, or even squeeze his legs in an attempt to ease the urgency, an abnormal warmth had spread across his lower half.

_ no, no, no, no… _

He was wetting himself full force, like an actual baby. Peter's heart practically stopped as dread filled his entire system, the realization was enough for his legs to feel wobbly, and before he could regain his composure, the poor teen slumped to the floor. 

It took another few seconds for the flow to finally come to a halt, the diaper, thankfully seemed to do its job as the soft carpet under him was as dry as a bone, but that also meant that he was now sitting in every drop of his own piss. 

If Peter thought that wearing a diaper was bad, then a wet one was ten times worse. The diaper was starting to feel colder and mushier as it pulled the wetness away from his skin. 

The teen squirmed uncomfortably as he contemplated on how he could get out of this unpleasant situation. The obvious solution was to call out for Tony and get changed into a clean one, but then again, it would come with a price. Peter blushed furiously at the thought, getting strapped on the changing table while Tony wiped him down, privates fully exposed? _ No fucking way, _he couldn't bear another round of mortification. 

Or, he could simply lay back on the bean bag and shut his eyes, and hopefully, he would forget about the wetness, at least while he was asleep. _ Yeah, _ that would be much better _ . _

Peter couldn't have been more wrong. A little over an hour since he'd wet himself, the teen couldn't help but notice the itch in his lower half. Shifting slightly, Peter reached down to grab the front of his crotch, digging his nails into the thick padding, which unfortunately did little to ease the itch. 

With every passing minute, things got steadily worse as he could feel his skin starting to burn with pain. Peter was no doctor, but It was evident that the teen now had a bad case of rash, specifically diaper rash, which was humiliating as hell. He _ definitely _ did not want Tony to see him in such a state. 

"Peter, baby, what are you doing there?" 

_ Great, just great. Perfect timing indeed. _

It was at this exact moment where Tony had come to fetch Peter up for his nap. The teen's head immediately snapped up at the source of the voice where Tony stood before him with a puzzled look on his face. "Everything okay? You don't want to play with your toys?" he added, brows furrowing at the rather odd and uncomfortable position his boy was in. Peter was seated on the bean bag, arms crossed and legs spread out awkwardly. 

"Come on now, stand up, let's check your diaper before we get you to bed." Tony crouched down to Peter's eye level and offered his hands out. 

"I-I don't need one!" Peter was quick to respond, pulling his hands away and tucking it behind his back, but regretted almost instantly when Tony's face darkened. 

Tony had to suppress his urge to smirk at the teen, recalling how his friend, Steve's own little boy used to act whenever he had an accident in his pull-up. The flushed cheeks, chewing of lips and nervous gaze was universal in every stubborn toddler, it seems, and Peter was definitely guilty of it. "Whether you need a change or not, that's for daddy to decide Peter." 

"I said, no! leave me the fuck alone!" Peter was on the verge of another breakdown, stomach-churning from anger, humiliation and pain. He sure as hell knew that he was wet, there was no way the teen could ignore the damp feeling and the burning skin. He certainly didn't need any of 'daddy's' checks to remind him! 

Despite his obvious embarrassment, Tony was more concerned over his momentary outburst. Peter was lifted up like a rag doll and set on his feet, the friction on his raw skin from the sudden movement caused the teen to hiss in pain, but went unnoticed as the only thing Tony had in mind was to discipline his boy. 

Pulling him closer, the man gripped Peter's hips by one hand and took a moment to pat his rear by the other firmly.

"Soaked," Tony announced, before pulling his hands away. "Peter Benjamin Parker, what did I say about using a naughty word?" 

Fuck, Peter instantly freezes when Tony had pulled out the full name card. Perhaps it was the power it brought, he wasn't too sure, but the teen knew he was in deep trouble, and boy, was he terrified.

"I asked you a question." 

Peter doesn't say anything but simply kept his eyes trained on the floor, with a huge lump in his throat. He couldn't break down just yet – at least not while the man was looking. 

"Cut the attitude, Peter, answer me." Gripping Peter's chin and forcing him to look up, Tony spoke, patience visually wearing thin.

Knowing that he was just literal inches from a spanking, Peter finally answers, "You said… no swearing."

"Yes, using a naughty word is _ never _ allowed. But what did you do back there?" When the teen remained silent, Tony gave out a sigh, before yanking him closer by the arm.

The sigh and touch alone were enough of a cue to indicate that the man was no longer angry, but rather…disappointed? He figured. Not that he cared though, Tony had no rights to be upset over a swear word, especially when he was the very reason for Peter's distress and possibly, pain.

"You used a naughty word on daddy, didn't you?"

_ Naughty word _

Peter inwardly cringed at the phrase and suppressed the urge to lunge forward and punch him in the face. God, this man was so intent on treating him like a child. 

It all came as a surprise when the familiar burning returned, and his sight begun to falter. Without warning, a flood of tears gushed down his cheeks, flushed from sheer frustration and mortification. And before Peter could stop himself, a loud sob escaped his trembling lips.

Reaching out, Tony gently wiped off the stream of tears dribbling under his chin. The man was convinced that no one, not even Tony Stark, could possibly resist the pair of doe eyes, all puffed up and watery from tears, without being compelled to hug the teen in a tight embrace.

Tony had managed to maintain his stern demeanour for a good minute, but Peter's continuous sobs soon began to tug at his heartstrings.

"Did you or did you not? Please use your words, Petey." This time, his approach is much softer. Even making sure to add on the pet name for the sake of reassurance, since Peter seemed far too distraught to notice the difference in tone. 

"I-I did!" Peter forced out between shuddering gasps.

"And I'm sorry." he hastily tacked on. 

Truthfully, there wasn't an ounce of remorse in his words. He was 15, not 2. Peter had every right to swear whenever the hell he wanted. But he knew for a fact that Tony would have none of it, his stand was firm, refusing to acknowledge that Peter was a teenager.

"Yes, you did, and I know you are sorry." Tony seemed satisfied by the apology, but that didn't mean he was done. Thumbing away tears, the man resumed with his humiliating lecture.

"Do you remember what happened the last time you were naughty?"

_ oh fuck _

"No, no, no, no!" Peter babbles incoherently, sheer panic taking over him "You can't, please!" the teen begged, thrashing around in his tight grip. 

"Stop it, Peter, none of that." Tony lowers his tone by a pitch as he gave a tight warning squeeze to his hips before adding, "I asked you a question, do you remember what happened?" 

Peter nods

"I'm sure you do, that wasn't pleasant for the both of us, was it?" 

He wished he could laugh in front of the man's face, unpleasant? _ Bullshit! _

The teen was sure that Tony was having a field day while he cried himself to sleep with a burning ass. Peter hated the man, but from the earlier events, he was now_ terrified _of him.

Maybe it was the sense of gratification it gave to the man, he'd never know, but Tony couldn't have been more satisfied with the outcome and wouldn't hesitate to do it again if he had to, that much was clear.

"You learnt your lesson, didn't you?"

Peter knew he was now on thin ice, and so, he nods again. 

"Then please explain Peter, why did you use such mean words on daddy?"

"I-i didn't mean to." Sensing that the man had started to soften up, Peter saw that as the perfect opportunity to weasel out of any incoming punishments. Choosing his words wisely, he continued, "I-i was in pain, and I didn't want to be touched, but you did it anyway! It hurt when you lifted me off like that!" it came out louder than he meant, voice heavily laced with emotions he couldn't quite comprehend. 

"Hurts? what hurts baby?" Tony completely drops his stern act, brows drawing together in confusion. Lifting the bottom of Peter's shirt, Tony looked for any signs of injury. It wasn't surprising when the man found nothing; after all, every corner of the playroom was toddler proofed. 

Peter simply shakes his head in response, tugging back his shirt in a somewhat forceful manner. "No...not there." the teen paused for a moment and hesitantly gestured to his crotch area.

"Then, where? Come on Peter, help daddy…." Tony's voice trailed off in silence as his eyes landed on the boy's lower half.

It didn't take long before the man came to a quick conclusion on the issue, "Oh god, baby" Looks of confusion soon turned into concern, "why didn't you tell me you had a rash?" 

"Because it's pathetic! So please, just leave me alone!" Peter was shaking at this point, pent up emotions bubbling up to the surface with every word.

"Peter, having a rash is perfectly normal, it's not pathetic, do you understand?" Sensing the tension in his boy, Tony reached out to gently rub his back, before he continued, "I think you are very overwhelmed right now baby, tell daddy what's on your mind."

Peter was now drowning in a plethora of negative emotions, the most prominent one being frustration. The gentle touch only managed to aggravate the crying teen further; in fact, everything that Tony did was provoking. He hated how the man was calm and collected, a stark contrast to his current state – _ face crumpled and covered with snot and tears; Peter was a complete mess. _

To some, the teen even seemed like an inconsolable toddler, crying and raising his voice at daddy. 

When he had realized how ridiculous the situation was, Peter finally let loose. 

"NO!" 

And _ god _, that had to be the most impolite tone Peter had ever used against Tony, but there was no turning back.

"Calm down, Peter, I'm listening."

"Like hell you are! I said, _ leave. me. alone _, twice! You never once listened to me and you never will! because all you want to do is to treat me like t-this!" Peter screams, so hard that his voice begins to sound hoarse. "Like a dumb, stupid, baby! I had a life, and you took me away from it! I don't need toys, sippy cups or diapers!"

For a split second, Peter flinches in anticipation for a slap across his face, if not at least a yell. But nothing happens. Instead, Tony releases his grip on Peter's hips and inches forward to cup the side of his cheeks, gently guiding him to look up.

Peter's vision is foggy, lashes wet and clumped up from tears, the sudden burst of emotions seemed to wear him out both emotionally and physically. With slow and steady hands, Tony reaches out to stroke his cheeks in an attempt to placate the crying teen further.

The calloused fingers felt cool to the touch, oddly soothing on his flushed cheeks, Peter would never admit aloud, but the gentle touch did manage to ease him from his hysterics, as the sobbing soon reduced to silent sniffles. 

It took a full minute before Peter had somewhat cooled off, at which Tony quickly took the opportunity to speak up. 

"Feel better now?"

_ No _, Peter still felt like utter shit, in fact, he wouldn't feel any better until he was released from Tony and his fucked up fantasy. But he did feel a little collected than before, so he nods.

"Okay, that's good. Do you think you are ready to talk? or do you need a little more time?" 

"N-no, I'm fine." It wasn't like Peter had a choice, the man wasn't going to leave him alone unless he had finished his lecture. 

"I was too caught up in my work, and it was wrong for me to leave you alone for such a long time. I apologize." very gently, Tony moved his hands away from his cheeks, before tucking the loose strand of curls behind Peter's ears. "Can you forgive Daddy?"

Tony's 'request' was more a rhetorical question, or at least that's what Peter assumed. He saw no point in arguing with the man either, and so, he nods for the umpteenth time.

"I can see this is hard for you, Peter, and it was brave of you to admit your feelings. But what you did back there wasn't a very nice thing to do, using a naughty word and lashing out is never okay, no matter how upset you are." 

"I know." 

"Of course you do my smart boy, now, what do we say to daddy?"

Peter, at this point, knew exactly what the man wanted. Truthfully, he didn't want to fucking apologize. Everything was clearly Tony's fault; none of this would have happened if he hadn't forced him into a diaper. But then again, Peter was exhausted, if a simple apology could satisfy the man, he'd gladly give it to him. 

"I'm sorry," Peter muttered softly, just enough for Tony to hear.

"That's okay baby. I forgive you." Tony's voice was soft and well-modulated. There was an unexpected glint of compassion in his eyes, which was… odd to say at least. 

For the longest time, much like the general public, Peter only knew him as Tony Stark, the billionaire – who donned himself in the most lavishly tailored suit, throwing around cocky, if not sarcastic remarks at the press. 

Everything about Tony was foreign to Peter, but the gentle touches, eyes and tone? – These were all too familiar, just like… 

_ Just like…? _

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

"Is there anything else daddy should know?" 

"H-huh what!?"

"I asked if there's anything else you would like to tell me baby, or are we good to go for a nap?"

Peter gave a slight frown when his thoughts were interrupted but replied nonetheless.

"No...Just tired, and hurts maybe." Frankly, Peter had so much more to say. Like how he missed his friends, or how much his heart ached whenever he thought of Tuffy. But the teen knew some words were better left unsaid. He'd gladly take a nap rather than to stir up another pointless conversation. 

Tony would never let him go, that was for sure, and it was unlikely that Tuffy could be salvaged at this point – Which was another sad reality he had to accept, just like how he had to with May and his parents. 

"I know, I know, come here," Tony chuckled before wrapping an arm around the teen's back, pulling him close to his chest. 

In most circumstances, hugs could never be long enough for Peter, but this, this was the rare exception. It had to be the longest and most uncomfortable one he ever had. 

Peter wasn't going to fight Tony over a simple hug, though. The man could have made his life far more miserable than it already was, like giving him another round of spanking or completely disregarding what he had said during his outburst. 

This situation was probably the best it could get – If Peter was spared from a beating of a lifetime, and if Tony did at least acknowledge his feelings rather than sweeping it under the rug, he couldn't complain.

Tony eventually released him from the awkward hug, but before he could even distance himself, the man quickly tipped him over, and Peter was lifted up bridal style. The teen easily guessed that Tony wanted to reduce as much contact as he could with his lower half, hence the change in carrying style. 

"We'll get your rashes sorted out real quick, and then you can go down for a nap, how's that sound?" 

_ Good god _, an hour or two of peace and quiet sounded amazing, another daddy, naughty word or baby would have sent him into another meltdown. 

Peter laid fully lax in the man's arms, too drained even to squirm or stiffen his body. As Tony left the playroom, he couldn't help but notice how docile Peter was, cooing in adoration at sight.

Dipping his head down, Tony planted a firm kiss to the top of the teen's head. 

"I love you _ so _ much, do you know that?"

_ Peter didn't believe him. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. End of a long day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, so here it is, the chapter that made me have a huge dilemma on since January. The thing is: I am aware that the bathrooms in other countries work differently (specifically the western countries) and I did consider tweaking the bathroom scene from the original story in Japanese. But in the end, I’ve decided to stick to the original, because I didn’t want that particular scene to be inaccurate from my lack of knowledge/ misconception.
> 
> Sooooo, here are some differences:  
\- The toilet is located in a separate room  
\- There’s an entrance room/ changing room with a sink and sometimes a washing machine just before the bathroom, where you can leave your clothes, dry your hair etc.  
\- The whole bathroom is a wet area, consisting of a shower area and a tub. The tub is for soaking only, so you’ll have to use the shower first. Basically, you can't get any soap inside the tub.  
\- The tub has a control panel attached to it, where the temperature of the bathwater can be maintained and adjusted according to preferences.

"God, Peter, look at you. Guess daddy has to check on you more often, huh?" 

Peter could only squeeze his eyes shut in shame as Tony slathered the thick, greasy rash cream onto his aching skin. 

See, this was the exact reason why Peter really, and truly wished he'd mustered the courage to speak up, or at least done something. Because having a rash meant a burning red skin which hurt even with the slightest breeze, an excuse for more diaper checks and an extra minute or two of being strapped onto the changing table. 

Not once did Tony linger on his privates, but Peter was way past the point of exhaustion to notice the difference. What concerned him, however, was the fact that Tony was taking forever to finish the process, covering every bit of rash with the ointment and going as far as to air dry the area, which added up to a good minute or two, rendering him bare and exposed, much longer than he'd like it to be. 

Peter's body practically sagged in relief when Tony had finally taped him back into a fresh one, waiting for the man to pick him up for some much-needed shut-eye. The sedatives from the previous night seemed to be lingering in his system, and as soon as his head hit the pillow, Peter was fast asleep.

Things perked up for Peter when Tony woke him up a little over an hour later. Snack time was fruit sandwiches, animal biscuits and a cup of lemonade to go with. It wasn't that Peter was spared from the highchair, the sippy cup or the same childish plate, the teen had yet to come to terms with those. But this time, Tony had allowed Peter to feed himself. 

The sandwiches were cut up into absurdly small pieces, and he was only ever allowed to eat with his hands. Still, this was a huge step up from breakfast and lunch. It was the little things that mattered, and if this was the only compromise he could get, he'd take it. 

Peter figured he'd be smart, play along, even if it was entirely superficial. The teen had to remind himself that this was merely the first day, the house was huge, and he had yet to figure out an escape route since the only places he'd ever been to were the playroom, dining room and nursery. The first step was to get on the good side of Tony, earn some privileges along the way – so that the man would stop scrutinizing his every move, strapping him on the bed, locking him.

And so Peter complied, at the best of his efforts. He ate all of his snacks like the 'good boy' he was and remained passive when Tony had kissed him on the cheek, even if that meant he was seconds away from throwing up from the sheer disgust. 

But these were minor incidents, a far cry from what he had to deal with earlier today. Because really, what else could be worse than having to be spanked across the lap like a naughty child? Peter reasoned. 

– – 

It wasn't until when evening came by did Peter realize that he had spoken too soon. 

Shortly after snack time, Peter was carried back to the playroom just as he figured. Evidently, being held captive meant there weren't many things or places the teen could do or go to, and it was only natural to assume that most of his time would be spent in this room. Vaguely, Peter also recalls how Tony had told him he'd get two naps for each day, so that was out too.

Peter internally panicked with the realization, the earlier events flooding back into his mind. No, it wasn't that he enjoyed his captor's presence, Peter wanted nothing to do with that man. But he was _ fearful _, afraid that something would happen, much like the last time he was left alone in the playroom like this. Suddenly, a pang of anxiety strikes him, heart racing and mind overwhelmed with a string of "what ifs." 

What if Tony leaves him for hours? Would he be able to stay dry until then, or would he wet himself again? If he did, does that mean he has to call out for Tony? Could he even do that? To openly admit he'd wet himself like a baby?_ Probably not. _

"What would you like to play with?" Before Peter could make himself feel even worse, Tony cuts in.

Peter had been so caught up and deep in his thoughts that he hadn't been paying attention when he was placed down on the soft carpet. The toy rack before him was massive, towering over his small frame. 

"W-what?" Peter asks, instinctively shuffling away from the rack.

"We've got an hour or two before dinner, don't you want to play with your toys?" 

_ No _, he doesn't want to. But Peter recognizes the underlying tone in the man's question – The kind that he wouldn't take no for an answer. It was an order, not a suggestion, the teen was sure of it.

"I don't know…" He was being honest on this one. Every part of the rack was teeming with bright, childish-looking toys, all of which seemed to be equally torturous to play with. And with May and Ben struggling to make ends meet, Peter rarely got any toys when he was an actual child.

So really, owning that many toys at his disposal were daunting and too abrupt, to say the least. Not that he wanted any of them, _ ten years too late _, he thought.

Peter continues to gaze at the rack, vacillating between the array of choices. Eventually, Tony decides to put in a few words of help. "How about...this one?" The man muses for a moment, hands trailing over the different stacks of toys before pulling out a flat, white box. 

"Would you like this, little bud?" Tony jiggles the box, the contents clattering inside. Peter glances briefly at the illustration. Truth be told, the toy didn't look half bad, but as soon as he caught a glimpse of the big, bold_ "for ages three and up" _ written right smack on the corner, the teen decided that he hates it with a burning passion. Quickly, Peter shakes his head in disapproval.

Tony hummed in response, setting the box back and reaching out for another. Peter hated this one too. 

They both went back and forth for the next five minutes. In which Tony would suggest a new toy, each time worse than the other, only for Peter to refuse, occasionally muttering out a small "no." 

The teen half expects that Tony would grow sick of him, to give up eventually.

It wasn't until when the man took out a wooden puzzle which had… nine fucking pieces did Peter decide he's had enough. Tony was_ never g _oing to give in.

"That one, please." begrudgingly, Peter points to the white box. Tony took out the first time around. It's a pathetic compromise, but he's left with no choice.

Tony beamed, chuckling when the teen looked away in mortification. "Alright, let's go." With Peter in tow, the man walks over to the padded corner of the room.

The teen wondered what the laughter was all about. Was it because the man had won, or merely from the excitement that Peter was finally going to 'play'? Somehow, he figured it was both.

Settling him on the bean bag, Tony dumps out the contents of the box. Peter frowns as he rips open the individual packages, laying out the building tiles according to the shapes. Square ones in the middle, triangle ones at the left corner and the odd-shaped pieces were placed on the other side.

"Here, take one." handing Peter a blue piece, Tony takes a pink one for himself, "Look at the edges, can you see the little black dots? They're magnets." holding out his own; the man taps the side of the plastic piece before he continues. 

"And they stick together, see?" 

Tony inches forward to gently grab Peter's right wrist with the toy still in hand, pulling it towards himself. And when the two pieces finally connect with a small click, he looks up with a grin, the lines at the corner of his eyes crinkling further, clearly anticipating for a reaction.

Peter deadpans throughout the whole monologue, the last thing he wants is to feed into the man's fucked up fantasy. 

"Your turn, Pete," Tony chimed, completely unphased at the frown plastered on Peter's face as the man pulled another bean bag from the side, settling in comfortably. "Come on, they're all yours, don't be shy."

At some point, Peter had turned his gaze away from Tony, chewing at his lips. Peter had no idea how the man could treat the situation as something completely normal — interpreting his obvious discomfort as simple shyness. 

Or perhaps, it was on purpose, just like the many other times Tony had forced him to act like a toddler. Whichever it was, Tony was clearly adamant on the idea of 'Playtime.'

"What do you want to make? Should we refer to this booklet here?" Reaching into the empty box, he pulls out a small instruction booklet. 

_ We? _

The question was enough for Peter to anchor back his attention on his captor as his eyes flickered between the man and the pile of pieces. Tony is slumped back on the bean bag rather comfortably, looking up with a hopeful gaze.

Confused, Peter idly stares at the man for a good minute. What was he doing? Wasn't he going to leave? 

And then, it clicked. 

Tony was going to _ stay _, and by the looks of it, he was going to observe him like a fucking zoo animal.

Peter is almost overcome with the urge to scramble away to another corner, anywhere that could allow him to escape from his predicament for even a single second. But he doesn't. Peter recalls the little vow he made back in the dining room, and he was going to abide by it. 

In fact, Tony's presence alone is so magisterial that Peter doesn't even dare to move an inch. Tentatively, he reaches into the pile for a new piece, clicking it into place with the one in his hand. 

"That's a good one, are you done already?"

_ Seriously? _

The teen almost grimaced at the comment but managed to hold back to nothing more than a twitch in the brows. Was Tony going to praise him for every little thing? He'd barely done anything with the plastic tiles yet!

Peter continues to build mindlessly, while Tony hands him a new piece each time he's done with the previous one. Usually, the teen would attempt to build something complicated, just like how he's made a computer from his latest dumpster diving session. It was captivating and enthralling, to create something out of the most limited resources. Peter loved challenges like that. 

But the uncertainty of what is deemed to be too 'grown-up' for the man, the possibility of being told off and nitpicked for his choices stopped him from doing so. Instead, Peter settled for something simple. The end product was a house, which looked like something that came out from a preschooler rather than a 15-year-old student from Midtown.

"Good job, Peter, that's very nice!" Tony cheered as he whipped his phone from his pocket, snapping a few photos. He was thrilled, evidently content with Peter's perfectly dumbed down, childish creation. _Yuck._

Peter's eyes widens at the sight and contemplates for a moment to lunge forward, snatch the phone to dial 911. But a logical part of him stops him from doing so. It was Tony Stark he was dealing with, after all, the man was most likely miles ahead of Peter, with something in mind in case he pulled a stunt like that. 

Which was why the teen could only stew in shame and annoyance, while praying that this whole ordeal was something Tony had decided arbitrarily. Being forced to play with childish toys while being locked in a playroom for his captor's enjoyment was torturous on its own, he certainly didn't want a repeat of today. 

By the time playtime had ended, Peter wanted nothing but to crawl back under his sheets and hide for the rest of the evening, even if that meant he'll go to bed with an empty stomach. 

Tony did not seem to share the same opinion.

As soon as the man had put away the toys, Peter was brought straight to the dining room and strapped down onto the high chair for dinner, face paling in horror as he scanned through the contents on his plate. The potato gratin, grilled chicken and roasted tomatoes weren't the issues per se, it was the bell peppers, sitting ominously at the side of the plate that caused the teen to gag. 

What aggravated the situation was the colour of the bell peppers – not red, not yellow but _ green _, the worst variant of all.

Needless to say, Peter refused at first, but the threat of another spanking before bedtime was enough for the teen to eventually comply, tearing up at every mouthful of the disgusting vegetable. Finishing every bit of food on the plate was another one of Tony's rules Peter had learnt at that exact moment, and he knew he was going to hate it in the long run.

Things only seemed to go south for the poor teen afterwards. The cup of water from dinner had gone right through him, and before he could stop himself, Peter's body had once again betrayed him. 

He was expecting another change, which was humiliating on its own, but the outcome that followed, was far worse than what he'd anticipated. Peter was completely taken aback when Tony had mentioned an early bath before bedtime. 

"Do not give me that look, Peter, you're getting a bath, and that's final," Tony shushed, Peter's jaws were set petulantly, and he'd been about to answer back until the man had cut in. "Alright, arms up." 

From the moment Tony had locked him in the changing room, Peter knew that it was losing battle on his part. Naturally, he complies, raising his arms high as Tony continues to strip him down, tossing his shirt, pants into the laundry basket beside the sink. 

They both enter the bathroom, and the warm, yellow lights automatically turn on, rendering a gasp from Peter and a chuckle from Tony in response. 

The bathroom is huge. Much more than what he'd been used to back in his apartment in Queens. On his right was a tub large enough to pass off as a small pool, the tiles are shined and spotless, and Peter wonders if the place has ever been used before. 

He continues to gawk in sheer amazement, but that quickly falters when his eyes linger over to the shower area beside the tub. There was a bright-coloured, plastic bath chair placed just below the showerhead, and a mesh storage bag, filled with bath toys were stuck on the far corner. 

Both looked awfully out of place, sticking out like a sore thumb in the lavish bathroom. To top it all off, there's a huge mirror installed on the wall, right in front of where the chair was situated. 

When Peter is told to sit on the chair, he notes the goosebumps prickling across his arms and neck. He contemplates for a moment if it was merely from the cold surface of the seat, or the nervousness from the inevitable humiliation he's about to experience. 

"Do you want the bubble gum or the strawberry mint one?" Tony asks, holding out the two bottles of shampoo. 

Peter didn't need a second thought on this one. The former was entirely out of the question, knowing that it would probably smell as childish and sickeningly sweet as it sounded. 

He decides he's sold on the latter and points to the pink bottle.

"Okay then, strawberry mint it is." Although Tony very much preferred a verbal answer, he acknowledges that Peter has had a long day, hence the subdued nature. And so, instead of pressing the matter further, he sets the bottle of shampoo on the tiled floor.

Grabbing the washbasin on the rack, Tony scoops out the water from the tub and pours it all over Peter. The teen nearly jumps in surprise at the sudden stream of warm water but quickly regains his composure, not wanting to falter the man's mood by resisting.

Peter whined in displeasure when the washcloth, lathered up with a mild, milky scented body wash, was rubbed all over his body in small circles, starting from the nape of his neck. 

He tries to keep himself busy, fingers drumming idly on his damp thigh. It works somehow, and Peter thinks he's almost able to reach a point of dissociation to get through bath time. But as soon as the washcloth slides in between his thighs, Peter lets out a high pitched yelp, and this time he isn't able to restrain himself. 

"Stop!" 

Peter jerks up in surprise, wincing at the sound when the chair drags across the tiled floor. "I-I.." He stutters, voice quivering in fear when he realized his hands had also shot out on reflex, grabbing the man's wrist tightly. 

Tony doesn't utter a single word, but rather, decides to take a long, hard look at the teen. The moment seems to stretch forever, Peter could almost feel the man's gaze boring into him and he tenses up, breath hitching in his throat. 

There's an uncomfortable sort of silence filling up the room, and it wasn't until after Peter had started to shiver from the cold that Tony finally decided to speak up. "Are you going to let go of my hand?" 

Swallowing thickly, Peter releases his grip. A tiny part of him wishes to speak up, to beg and plead that he doesn't want a stranger to touch his privates, but he knows his opinions would never matter. And so, Peter lowers his half-raised arms and cowers down.

"Peter, you are going to sit back right here and take your bath like a good boy, is that understood?" Tony instructs, repositioning the chair which had moved a few inches away from the impact.

Peter's small frame jerks in recoil at the change in tone, but replies nonetheless, "Y-Yes, I understand." Hesitantly, he makes his way over to the chair and sits down.

With a small affirmative nod, Tony resumes, and Peter is left with no other choice but to keep his eyes trained on the floor, too embarrassed to even look into the mirror. 

The whole scrub down takes longer than he'd anticipated and Peter notices that Tony was taking things slow, avoiding the irritated areas from the rash. It's an entirely unwanted form of consideration and Peter nearly throws up at every touch. 

When Tony moves on to the shampooing, things become much more bearable for Peter, simply because the man was no longer touching his privates. 

As the strands of his curls were sudsed-up into a rich lather, Peter notes that Tony seemed to have an unexpected flair when it came to shampooing techniques. The strong and steady fingers were reminiscent of the middle-aged lady from the salon aunt May had forcefully made him visit a few years back. And likewise, the crisp, fruity-scented shampoo strangely reminded him of the ones they used in the shop.

Despite the situation, the slow, smoothing, stroking movements had provided him with the slightest bit of familiarity and normalcy. It wasn't much, but definitely enough for the teen to ease off by time his hair was rinsed off and conditioned. 

"Come on, let's go to the tub," Tony says, setting his hands on the boy's shoulders. This time, Peter isn't picked up but is instead steered over to the large bathtub, which was a nice change from being carried around like a child. "Now, you'll want to make sure to soak in there for 15 minutes," he adds, before pouring three capfuls of the bath milk solution.

As he settled into the water, Peter couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. The water was warm and nice, with the bonus of the bath milk that made the water adequately murky, giving him his much-needed privacy. The bath toys, which were thrown in by Tony, were redundant and unappreciated, but he could easily ignore them.

Tony, on the other hand, kept himself busy by tidying up the shower area, spraying off the suds from the tiles. And although Peter would have preferred him to leave, he was still thankful for the fact that the man was no longer hawking on him. 

By the time he's led out of the bathroom, all clean and smelling faintly like a fruit popsicle, Peter barely kicked up a fuss as Tony laid him down on the mat on the floor. 

Peter looked like a complete fool, wrapped up and dried off in a fluffy, blue towel with bunny ears attached on the hood. But being completely sapped out meant that he couldn't find it in himself to fight back, or even utter a word of protest. Instead, he feigned nonchalance at the best of his efforts, even as Tony had put on a new diaper and dressed him in his pyjamas. 

That quickly changed when Peter had accidentally caught a glimpse of himself in the full body mirror beside the sink. As silly as it sounded, the figure in the mirror that stood before Peter…. looked like anything but himself. 

No, scratch that. 

With the same height and the same pair of big brown doe eyes, Peter knows for a fact that part of the reflection – his features, was indeed himself. 

But the white pyjama top, decorated with the text "I am getting whaley sleepy" accompanied with a childish drawing of a whale, made him believe otherwise. 

The outfit looked as horrible as it could get, save for the plain, navy blue bottom. That, however, did little to hide the obvious bulge on his crotch and behind, a dead giveaway that Peter was indeed wearing a fucking diaper. 

To put it simply, Peter looked like an overgrown toddler.

And just like that, his entire facade; his forced nonchalance had crumbled down in a span of a single second, leaving the teen to feel miserable again.

Peter was somewhat thankful when Tony had brought him back up to the nursery, even if that meant he was strapped down onto the crib. He still hated the childish decor, furniture and the damned elephant stuffed toy placed on the crook of his arm, but the lights were switched off and replaced with a night light, which clearly meant bedtime and Peter couldn't have been more relieved with the realization. 

Unfortunately for the teen, Tony seemed to have other ideas. 

"Daddy has to head downstairs to grab some things for your quiet time, think you can stay put for a little while?" 

What was the point in all these questions? Peter wonders, it wasn't like his wishes would be granted if he said no, and besides, where else could he possibly go with the restraints holding him down? Having no real say in it, Peter simply nods. 

"That's a good boy, I'll be back in 15 minutes, tops," Tony whispered, pulling the blanket up to Peter's chest. The teen frowned, 15 minutes was too short; in fact, he wished Tony would have left him alone for the night. 

After the series of chaotic events, Peter thinks he'd be out like a light as soon as Tony left the room, but somehow, it's all backwards. All he wanted was a few hours of sleep – to bask into blissful ignorance for as long as he was allowed. Instead, Peter was now left to ponder over 'quiet time.'

Whatever it was, it couldn't be good, judging by the amount of shit he had gone through for the past few hours. 

For once, Peter was right, and when Tony had walked back into the room with a picture book and a bottle in hand, he certainly wished that he hadn’t hit the mark.

The picture book was placed beside the pillow, that, however, went barely noticed as Peter's eyes were remained transfixed on Tony, with the bottle still in his hand.

"Alright, Peter, we're gonna have your bedtime milk, and then a little storytime before we go night-night, okay?" Tony explained while unlocking the restraints. 

Peter's eyes were on stalks as the steady hands slid under his armpits, lifting the teen like he weighed nothing. The words fuck you are on the tip of his tongue, but at the same time, Peter's body was done processing the amount of shit Tony had been surprising him with. 

Far too tired and beaten down by embarrassment, Peter simply remained still as he was carried over to the love seat. And with a soft grunt, Tony quickly settles down on the couch and shifts Peter's weight to one arm, pulling him closer to his chest. 

Peter doesn't outwardly protest, but lets out a pitiful whimper, and he's almost about to plead again. Tony, however, only takes this as a window of opportunity, and as soon as Peter opens his mouth, the teat of the bottle is swiftly slid into his barely parted lips. 

"Drink up, sweet pea," Tony croons, tilting the bottle up. Begrudgingly, Peter does so, knowing that the bottle would be kept jammed in his mouth until every drop of milk was finished. He does a tentative suck on the soft, silicone nipple and fuck... whatever that was in there, clearly wasn't milk. 

Peter makes an involuntary whine at the back of his throat, evidently put off by the taste. The 'milk' was sweet, thick and a tad bit grainy, it wasn't the worst tasting beverage he's had per se, but the taste was too foreign for his liking, and quite frankly, Peter was a little frightened by that. 

"Shh, baby, I know it's a little weird, but you'll get used to the formula soon, I promise."

_ Oh _

Of course, it was. The man had been treating him like a toddler all day; he should have expected that. And although that doesn't reassure him in the slightest bit, Peter is left with no choice but to resume with his bottle.

Satisfied, Tony begins to rock him back and forth, gently patting his padded bum, as if in sync with the suckling motion. Peter hates that, and he _ really _ wants to wriggle away from the man's grip, but instead, he decides to tightly grasp the hem of his pyjama top until his knuckles turn white.

It took a painstakingly long amount of time, but Peter was eventually finished.

"See? You're all done, that wasn't so bad, was it?" holding out the now empty bottle for Peter to see, Tony praised, using his sleeve to wipe the corner of his mouth. Peter begged to differ, but those words remain unsaid.

In fact, the teen remained silent throughout, sighing in defeat as he was carried back to the crib and strapped back into the restraints.

The picture book which Tony had picked out, was as childish as it could get. Something about a bunch of animals getting ready for bed, but Peter couldn't care less. With a disinterested sniff, the teen adverts his gaze away in annoyance, hoping to get his point across. But as expected, Tony continues to recite the rhyming texts, occasionally pointing at the animal illustrations.

Somewhere in the middle, Peter notices how….floaty he feels, and as if on cue, his eyelids begin to droop, almost as if every strand of his lashes weighs more than it should.

He's almost positive that the milk must have been laced with some sort of sleeping aid, or even pills. Whatever it was, the drowsiness couldn't be natural. The teen had been mortified and annoyed just minutes ago, and now, he was on the teetering edge of sleep.

To give in or not to give in? He contemplates. Peter knows he'd give Tony exactly what he wants if he does, but then again, the teen was tired. The day had been rough, and he deserved every bit of rest. Slowly, Peter lets sleep take over him, and soon enough, he was out like a light.

"The day is done, they say good night, and somebody turns off the light...Peter?" Tony's voice trailed off. He'd been about to flip to the final page, until a soft snore had interrupted him from doing so.

Tony looks away from the book and towards his right. His eyes are instantly focused on his little boy; head lolled to the side and fast sleep. Peter looked as peaceful as ever, perhaps the most he'd been since arriving at the mansion, which was a little sad, considering how that had to be achieved by the mild sedatives mixed into the formula.

But that was a necessary evil, after all, Tony had been horrified to hear that Steve's kid, Bucky had collapsed in the first week from the lack of sleep. 

The first day had been rough, and perhaps, even more so for the next few weeks. 

It was evident that Peter was having a hard time, adjusting to his new lifestyle and understanding that this was all for his own good. And that might require a hell lot of coaxing on Tony's part, but he's prepared for that.

He'll eventually _ win _, that much was clear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is fine out there! The situation is pretty bad in my country with all the panic buying and stuff. Stay safe please.  
On a side note, I hope this chapter wasn't too dry! Stay tuned for the next one.


	6. Love

_ Two weeks _, that's how long he'd been held captive by Tony Stark, and it was safe to say that every day turned out to be a perpetual torture for the poor teen. 

Peter tried, he _ really _did. But even still, it was painstakingly difficult to comply with the man's twisted antics, simply because his pride wouldn't let him. 

Failing to comply meant that Peter was met with a series of humiliating punishments every other day. So far, he's received a few more spankings; none of which were as severe as the ones he received on the first day, but still, it fucking hurt. And no matter how many times Peter tried to hold in his tears in the act of defiance, he'd be bawling his eyes out at the end of the day.

Just when Peter thought things couldn't get any worse, the real hell began when the sedatives had finally left his system. 

It all happened on the second day when Peter noticed the subtle changes in his body. Like how the warning twinges seemed to stretch longer before his bladder finally gave out, or how he managed to wake up dry after each nap. And that's how Peter figured that he was starting to regain control of his bodily functions. 

Needless to say, Peter was in raptures, knowing that he no longer had to involuntarily piss himself like an infant, and most importantly, from the sheer fact that he was now _ free _ from the fucking diapers. 

Or so he thought. 

On that one particular day, Peter found out how cruel Tony could be, and how far the man was willing to go to play out his sick fantasies.

"You're not ready to use the potty." was all Tony used to explain before the bathroom was declared out of bounds for the poor teen. Peter fought on that one, cried even, but the man wanted to hear none of it.

Which was more embarrassing? Peter wonders. To wet himself willfully, under his control, or to fight until the very last moment where his bladder would eventually give out? But even before he could come to a conclusion, Peter was...met with a bigger issue.

When Peter was told that the diapers were here to stay, it hadn't occurred to him that Tony had meant it quite literally. Apart from bath time, he was _ always _ clad in a diaper. It never came off, no matter how many times Peter had begged Tony.

Yes, even when it came to the 'other thing.' 

That day had started innocently enough when Peter was given a laxative disguised as a 'children’s vitamin supplement' by Tony just after breakfast. It was a dumb decision on his part of course, but by the time the cramps had hit him, it was too late. Despite the teen's desperate pleas, Tony simply locked him in the playroom for the laxative to fully take its effect and the rest was history. 

To say that Peter was shaken from the outcome was an understatement, the teen was so distraught that he wailed throughout the whole time as Tony cleaned up the mess. 

The man was quick and had remained surprisingly silent throughout the change, apart from the occasional reassurances, he'd give him that. 

Contrary to that, Peter would have preferred the opposite; it was easier to be mocked, to be affirmed how pathetic it was to shit yourself at 15. He could have easily replaced the mortification with anger, but there he was, crying even harder when Tony had given him a pat on the shoulder and a popsicle. It wasn't comforting in the slightest, and the tears had continued for the rest of the morning until the man had decided to put him down for an early nap. 

It was sometime during the late evening, albeit still in his dazed state that Peter decided to roll with things from now on. The past few days had been excruciatingly humiliating, with constant unwanted surprises from the man. Still, Peter hardly thinks anything could be worse than what he'd just gone through hours ago. Everything just seemed easier, and more bearable from that point on. 

And that's how Peter pulled through each day. He no longer freaked out at every little thing, like the other time Tony had read him a children's pop up book, or when a bib was strapped onto him for mealtimes. It was horribly degrading, but he didn't resist. 

_ Allow, acknowledge, accept. _

These were the 3As that effectively kept him from going insane. Peter just...allowed whatever humiliating thing to happen, acknowledge that it happened, accept that it’ll definitely happen again and then move on with his day. 

Tony being the strict man he was, preferred to keep an organized daily routine for Peter. Every day, he's woken up at the same time in the morning, fed breakfast, and then playtime which lasts for about an hour and a half, before he's taken back to the nursery for his morning nap. His noon schedule was somewhat similar to the morning, and shortly after he’s fed dinner, Peter gets a bath before Tony tucks him in for bedtime.

Adjusting to that was hard of course, especially when it was made suit for a two-year-old instead of a fifteen-year-old. But like all things, Peter got used to it eventually, and the daily schedule had since become his new normal.

So, looking back, it's a little scary how quickly Peter seemed to fall into the routine. He hadn't spoken up or lashed out in days, steering clear from any punishments. Which was a vast improvement from the mess he was at the start. 

But that didn't mean he liked being here though. Peter still felt the familiar sense of humiliation every time he's forced to play with the toys like a child under Tony's watch. He still avoids addressing the man by his forced title like a plague and gags every time he inevitably had to. All in all, Peter hadn't changed in the slightest, he was very much sane, and his fighting spirit has never faltered since day one. 

If anything, Peter has just got smarter. 

Since his captivity, Peter thinks he's managed to eavesdrop on a small portion of the morning news, which played while Tony cooked breakfast. Luckily for him, he could recognize most of the channels, which meant that he was still within the US.

But at the same time, Peter's speculations about how his disappearance might have been hidden from the public were proven to be true. Even at the end of the second week, there wasn't a single information about him. Nothing_ . _Almost as though he never existed, or worse, mattered. 

Of course, he knows that wasn't the case. Peter was certain that his friends were still on the lookout for him, and if they were going to the ends of the earth to find him, he wasn't going to give up just yet, or to passively wait for help. 

Peter was going to take matters into his own hands.

But despite his determination, finding an escape route, on the other hand, proved to be harder than he had expected.

Peter realized how big and complicated this place was, and it's strange how he hadn't noticed it until he'd decided to find an escape route. So far he’d been confined in four different rooms. The dining room on the 1st floor, his nursery and playroom on the 3rd, and the bathroom just a floor below that. 

On instinct, Peter considered to dart off towards the entrance before Tony could strap him on the chair during any of the mealtimes, but that idea was quickly scrapped off when he couldn't seem to spot a single door that could potentially lead him outside. There were windows, but as soon as he caught a glimpse of the small box attached to the sills, he knew those were out of the option. It didn't take a genius to realize that those were sensors.

The playroom and nursery were even worse. Though both rooms were the only places he's allowed to be left alone, Tony seemed to have planned everything down to the last detail. 

Both rooms were fully equipped with surveillance cameras, sensors in every corner of the windows, auto-lock doors and restraints which could only be unlocked with the man's wristwatch or fingerprint. It also didn't help that Tony's bedroom was only a few feet down the hall. To put it simply; that portion of the house felt like a miniaturized version of a high-security prison. 

That, however, only turned out to be a minor setback in his escape plan. Just when Peter thought that all hopes were lost, the unthinkable happened. 

You see, Peter had never really paid much attention to the bathroom; the window at the top of the bathtub to be exact. He knew it was there, but never gave a second thought to it, too embarrassed and distracted from being fully nude in front of a complete stranger cum kidnapper. 

It all happened by a complete stroke of luck when Tony had given him a raspberry smoothie. Perhaps the man had screwed the lid of his sippy cup too loosely, because the moment Peter had tipped the container up, the lid popped off instantaneously, its contents splattering all over and staining his face, neck, clothes into a bright shade of pink. Both parties were stunned, but Tony was the first one to react, and Peter was quickly swooped up and brought over to the bathroom.

As Peter passively allowed the man to spray off the mess, he couldn't help but notice that something was odd about the bathroom, which was weird, because nothing had changed since the previous night. It might have been the lighting that he was unfamiliar with since that was the first time he'd ever been into the bathroom during the day. But that wasn't it. 

Rather, It was something much larger; something that left a nagging feeling at the back of his mind which he couldn't seem to shake off that made him compelled to find out.

And then, it hit him. 

The window.

It was the window that seemed to grasp his attention. Peter noticed how the frame was completely bare from the infamous sensors which Tony seemed to have installed in every single opening in this house. That alone was a blessing enough, but there was more. 

Peter was quick to figure out that the same window was meant to ventilate the bathroom, and apart from bath time, it was always left wide open. So if he wanted to escape, he knew he had to do it during the day. 

But perhaps what took the cake was the scenery beyond it. There were trees after trees, huddled densely against one another. And although most of the trees were obscured by the small frame, the opening was large enough for the teen to realize that the bathroom was the closest to the ground floor he could get.

That was it; Peter had finally found the loophole he needed. He could use this, and he was going to find an opportunity to get out of here, once and for all.

And so with a solid plan forming in his mind, Peter made sure to memorize the path between the two rooms every time Tony carried him back to the nursery for bedtime, he had to be very careful though, he couldn't possibly allow Tony to notice his scrutinizing gaze every time they moved from one room to the other.

Said man seemed to be completely oblivious to his plans, his only focus being that Peter was finally becoming the little boy Tony has ever dreamed of. So yes, Peter thinks he's managed to hide a lot of things from Tony, a pretty good job at that. 

Well...almost. 

****

"Alright, confess," Tony says, setting the coffee mug on the table before inching closer "You have something to tell me, don't you?"

"H-huh?" Peter sputters, immediately averting his gaze from the man._ Shit. _

Naturally, he freaks out but tries to maintain a neutral expression, hoping that his sheer panic doesn't creep out from him. Peter notices how he begins to fidget his hands, clenching and unclenching; the usual signs of nervousness. He quickly tucks them under the tray attached to the high chair, keeping it out of sight from Tony.

Facial expressions and body language, was what Ned had once told him, that gave him away the most. 

"...Nothing?" Inwardly, Peter curses himself when it came out like a question rather than an answer. That sounded so obvious, god he was a terrible liar. 

"No, none of that," Tony replies quickly, almost as if he'd been expecting Peter to say that. "Come on, Peter, spill the beans."

"Nothin-"

Before Peter could even counter, he's quickly interrupted by Tony.

"Really though?" a small chuckle escapes from Tony's lips before he continues, "Your nose seems to tell me otherwise," he says and extends an arm to tap at his upper lip, a silent signal for Peter to look down at his own. 

Peter stares at the man for a moment, confused with the little gesture, and even more so when Tony didn't seem to be angry. It takes a few beats of silence, but he eventually gets the message.

_ Oh that _

It was at this exact moment when Peter finally noticed the trail of snot running out of his nose, dangerously inching close to his upper lip. _ Gross _. 

Peter turns bright red at that, realizing how dumb and utterly unconvincing he must have looked this whole time. Embarrassed, he sniffs, and hastily extends an arm to wipe off the snot with the sleeve of his pyjamas. Though, Tony's hands are much faster to shoot out, and his wrists are swiftly grabbed mid-air before the kid could even take a quick swipe at his nose.

"Ah-ah, don't do that. It's yucky you know," Tony says, before reaching out to grab the box of tissue placed at the side of the dining table. A wad of tissue is then pulled out and held against the flustered teen's nose. "Blow," he adds. Tentatively, Peter does so, wanting to get rid of the uncomfortable pressure in his nose. 

Tony takes a brief moment to scan through the kid's face – it's pale, his lips are chapped, and the end of his nose is bright red; textbook signs of a bad flu. And yet still, the man finds himself unpleasantly surprised when he brushes away the stray locks of curls and sets his palms on the kid's forehead. The heat coming off from him made Tony _ wince _. Poor thing, he'd gladly switch places with Peter in a heartbeat if he could. "Feeling a little under the weather, huh?"

"I'm fine," Peter says flatly, but as soon as he catches the side-eyed look and the twitch in the brows, he knows the man isn't buying it. As if on cue, he breaks into a violent coughing fit.

"Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that." Immediately, Tony leans over to the teen, patting him on his back to steady his breathing. The coughs eventually die down, leaving Peter to pant and wheeze. Tony allows Peter to catch his breath, and he continues "How long has this been going on?"

There's a pause, and Peter's eyes wander around the dining room. He looks everywhere; the table, the floor, his half-eaten lunch on the tray of the high chair, anywhere besides Tony. 

Until, he finally admits. 

"Um...last night."

Tony widens his eyes and closes briefly before sighing deeply. "Pete... why didn't you tell me earlier?"

Peter shrugs. "Dunno." 

Which was true, he's not quite sure why too. Peter wonders why he'd been so tight-lipped and stubborn when he first began to feel sick. Maybe he's got too much pride to show such a vulnerable side. 

Or maybe, he didn't want to openly admit that he wasn't feeling well. As silly as it sounds, It seemed...wrong in a way, like he wasn't allowed to do that. Because there was a clear boundary between a kidnapper and a caregiver, and those lines couldn't be crossed. Allowing himself to be cared for by Tony was something too intimate, too personal, and he couldn't possibly let that happen for his conscience's sake. 

He regrets his choices though, Tony had found out eventually and all that was left, was a worsened cold, an aching body and a runny nose. Peter felt stupid now, and the worst part was that he brought that upon himself and had no one else to blame. 

Tony, on the other hand, is less than satisfied with the response and lets out another sigh. He _ really _ wants to push the subject further, prompt Peter for a proper answer, lecture the kid maybe. He could go on and on about lying, hiding things, safety and the dangers of an untreated flu, because he's learnt that the hard way back in his days at MIT.

But all it takes is for another cough to break out from the kid, and his initial thoughts fly out of the window in an instant. He hardly thinks Peter's fever addled brain can process any form of information at this point. Nope, definitely not the right time.

"Never mind kiddo, you're clearly _ very _ sick, so here's what we're gonna do," Tony says firmly, leaving no room for arguments as he unlatches the tray and pulls Peter out of the chair. "We'll go back to your room, get some medicine into your sick little body to help with the fever. And hopefully, you'll feel well enough after a nap to eat something, sound good?"

Peter simply nodded against Tony's chest, somewhat relieved that he no longer had to lie his way out. It's not a verbal answer, but he supposes it's enough for the man. Peter was so, _ so _tired and even without a mirror, he's pretty sure that he looks like a complete wreck at this point. All he wanted to do was to curl under the sheets and hide for the rest of the day.

The door slides shut, and the elevator rises to the third floor. The journey back to the nursery is mostly silent, apart from the occasional snuffles and coughs emanating from the teen. Tony doesn't miss how dry his coughs are starting to sound, and makes a mental note to grab a bottle of Pedialyte from the kitchen while Peter takes a nap. Up close, the kid feels even hotter against his skin, and Tony hopes the fever isn't as high as it seems to be when they get an actual reading from a thermometer. 

Turns out, it's even worse than he expected.

"Jeez, 38.8 degrees? That can't be good." After a perturbed gasp, Tony drops the thermometer on the side table, running a hand along his face and through his hair. 

Proper self-care and Tony Stark was not something that was used in the same sentence, so quite frankly, he wasn't too sure if he was overreacting. How high is too high anyways? This was completely uncharted territory for the man, and he's struggling to get his shit together. 

But Tony was no idiot, and he knows that it's common knowledge that anything above 37.5 degrees is abnormal. The reading on the thermometer is far beyond that and the man thinks he's allowed to freak out a little. 

"Right, I'll go get some uh - things for you," Tony muttered, draping the blanket over the kid, "Sit tight."

Peter is a little thrown off by how fazed and pothered Tony was; it wasn't an everyday thing where the man would leave the side rails unlatched and the door half-open while Peter is left alone in the room, although the bed cuffs were still locked into place. 

Not that he seemed to mind though, the teen thought he'd never live to see such a moment, but here he was, watching Tony Stark stride out of the room with thinly veiled panic. It was almost comical and he couldn’t help but to feel a little victorious.

Eventually, Tony hobbles back into the room with a basket full of supplies. Peter watches with intent as the man swiftly begins to unpack them on the side table. There's a large ice pack the size of a pillow, a brightly coloured bottle of juice, a couple of hand towels and an extra box of tissues, just to name a few. 

"Come here, let's get you up, yeah?" Tony says, unlocking the wrist cuffs before helping the kid up into a sitting position, propped up against some extra pillows. A capful of liquid Tylenol is then handed, and Peter gulps it down without complaint, as he attempts to stifle a grimace when the vile tasting fluid meets his taste buds. 

"I know, I know, it's nasty." a chuckle escapes from Tony when the kid's face scrunches up in displeasure. "You like kiwi, right? This one's a lot better, I promise," he says and unscrews the top of the sippy cup, filling it up with the bottle of Pedialyte before capping it back.

"D-daddy?" 

Peter's voice is so soft, it's barely audible, but Tony notices like he always does. 

"Yeah, what is it, baby?"

"This...is this juice?" Usually, Peter is never the one to spark a conversation between them but his curiosity wins out when the sippy cup, filled with bright green coloured liquid was handed to him. He knows it's not poison, but he's a little sceptical because Tony seemed to have a thing against soft drinks. 

"Well," Tony starts, taking a brief moment to phrase his words properly. "Right now, you feel really hot and achy, don't you? That's because your body is trying to get rid of all the bad things." The man glances back at Peter, hoping for a reaction. Said kid remains impassive, and so, he continues. "But that makes your body very tired and thirsty, so this juice has the good stuff to fix that all up." 

He's mildly annoyed at how Tony preferred to take a detour around the words' dehydration' and 'electrolytes' as though he was far too stupid to understand. Peter didn't have the luxury to get pissed off like he usually would though, the same person he was annoyed with, was also the only person who could provide him with some comfort. _ Physical _ comfort of course, definitely not an emotional one.

"Oh..." Peter replies, he didn't really know what else to say, so he settled for nothing else.

"Yup," Tony says, while wrapping the ice pack with a towel. "So drink up, it's supposed to help you."

Nodding, Peter tilts up the cup, gulping down the drink as fast as he could to wash down the taste of the medicine. The chilled drink is a blessing to his scorching body and dry throat, it's nowhere as sweet tasting as the sodas he loved, but he supposes it's passable.

By the time he's finished, Peter could feel the fatigue creeping back, and with a sigh, he sets the sippy cup down on his lap, a blanket draped over it. He barely registers as Tony takes the cup from his limp hands, pulling the spare pillows away and throwing them off onto the couch.

Peter is quickly laid back down on the mattress, and the cuffs are once again locked into place. He glances over to the other side of the room where Tony seemed to be focused on drawing the curtains down, not giving much thought to it.

The man slides his hands under Peter's head and lifts it to place the wrapped-up ice pack underneath, the blanket is pulled back up, and the same thermometer from before was thrust under his tongue. Tony's movements are so seamless, so quick – almost as though his body is working on autopilot and Peter finds it hard to believe that this was the same man who had been freaking out just 20 minutes ago. As much as he hated Tony, Peter wishes that he too, possessed that sort of adaptability

The soft beep from the thermometer pulls Peter out from his thoughts, he didn't manage to catch a glimpse of the reading but looking at the way Tony's face dropped, he knew it couldn't be good. 

"Hm, 38.7 degrees. Guess we have to skip bathtime tonight huh?" Tony shook his head. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he knows that the medications would take a while to kick in, but he couldn't seem to hold back a sign; something which he'd been doing for the umpteenth time of the day.

"You alright there little bug?" He turns his attention back to the kid, unsurprised when he doesn't get a reply; only a small nod, which was quite frankly, more than enough for Tony. He gives Peter a tired smile, slowing sitting back onto the chair placed beside the crib.

Peter knew that Tony was right beside him, one hand already caressing the mop of his curls, and the other, gently patting his belly in a thumping motion. He couldn't find it in himself to move away though, too tired to even do so.

They spend a few moments like this, and then that's when a strange sense of Deja Vu hits him. It's weird, he thinks. Yes, Peter has fallen sick on multiple occasions, cursed with a rather weak immunity since young. But never in this room, never since his captivity, and most certainly, never in front of Tony. So why does he feel that way?

But when the Deja Vu quickly morphs into something else, Peter's question is immediately answered.

_ Nostalgia _

The realization hits him like a truck, and with that, he's instantly aware of _ so _ many things: Like how he's cool and warm at the right places, the extra blanket keeping his freezing legs warm, while the ice pad helped to cool down his flushed cheeks. The firm, steady fingers carding through his hair that eased off the tension in his body, offering some solace in the rather shitty situation he's in. Even something as minor as the thick curtains, drawn down to keep the room comfortably dimmed, or the bottles of water, medication and cough drops sprawled across the side table.

Peter remembers...all of them.

He was pretty fucking sure that he'd lived this moment before. It wasn't a long time ago, ten months at most when Peter had fallen ill after a particularly long hour of getting stuck in the rain. 

Aunt May was there to nurse him back to health. 

That piece of memory, no scratch that, anything that reminds him of May was not meant to be remembered. It should've been stowed at the back of his mind, undisturbed, never to be touched. Because Peter knows the danger of it; the implications of breaking the one golden rule he's made for himself since her passing.

The grief, it comes in waves and threatens to consume him entirely, he's at the mercy of its whims, rendering him to be entirely defenceless, vulnerable, pathetic. 

Peter learns right now, at this very moment that grief seems to apply even in the most bizarre of situations. He's currently held captive in a multi-billion dollar home, with a lunatic who forces him to behave like a two-year-old. Crazy, he knows, if that isn't bizarre, he doesn't know what else is. 

So perhaps, that is why Peter had fully anticipated his reaction that followed. 

His breath hitches at the back of his throat, and Peter bites the insides of his lower lip, but not in time for a pitiful sob to escape from his lips. A lone tear traced down his cheeks, and just like that, the floodgates opened, putting an end to his no-crying streak which hadn't been broken in a full week. 

Through his muddled sight, Peter risks a glance at Tony, and wow, he must be crying especially hard now, because the look on the man's face was pretty much a dead giveaway that the teen was in complete hysterics.

Tony looks confused, slightly taken aback even; like a bombshell had been dropped on him. Peter is quite frankly quite surprised by that too, he's never seen the man lose his calm and firm demeanour like that in a single day. But then again, he'd just burst out into tears out of nowhere, so Peter thinks he can't blame Tony for that. 

He attempts to wipe off the tears with his hands, but ultimately fails, the restraints holding him in place. It’s a minor inconvenience and Peter should have expected it. But he’s barely coherent enough to understand that, and the teen begins to cry louder. 

"Peter!" Tony jolts up in an instant, almost as if he's driven by some sort of instinct. "Hey, hey, it's okay baby, daddy's here," he starts out gently, not wanting to startle the kid. "I'll get you out of these alright? God, you're going to hurt yourself."

The restraints clicked open to free his limbs and Peter takes that as a window of opportunity to wipe off the snot and tears on his face. This time, Tony doesn't stop him. Instead, he's scooped out from the covers and carried over to the couch. Peter simply allowed the man to do so as he gathered his thoughts. 

"There, that's it, let it all out, you'll feel much better," Tony whispers, dropping a kiss on Peter's hair. Without thinking, he absentmindedly reaches out to rub the shuddering kid's back in gentle circles. It takes a while, and he isn't sure if that helped, but the tears eventually tapered off to a few sniffs and hiccups. 

"What's all this for Petey? Why the tears, huh?" Tony asks, dabbing Peter's face with the cloth to clean up the mess. When he doesn't receive a response, he decides to be a little more specific. 

"Are you in pain?" 

Peter shakes his head.

"Do you feel worse? Do you want to see the doctor?" 

Another shake. So it's not a physical issue. 

"Are you just sad? Would you like to take a break?" 

There's a pause, followed by a small shrug against Tony's chest. He takes that as a silent yes, and the questions stop.

“Oh,” Tony drops his gaze down to the kid in his arms, “That’s okay baby, everyone gets sad sometimes, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” 

How could he not? Peter thinks. As if wailing like an actual baby wasn’t humiliating on its own, he’d just been talked down like a little kid who couldn’t keep their emotions in check!

"Shh, you're okay, you're okay, daddy's got you," The man continues to speak in hushed murmurs, "I love you so much, you know that?" 

Peter's heart skipped a beat at that, and his head snapped back up to Tony. He blinked at the man, once and twice before an unpleasant feeling rose within him.

He scoffs. 

"Y-you love me?" The switch from sadness to anger is so fast; Peter doesn't even register when his voice begins to shake. "Don't you dare say that! after all these, after all you've done to me – y-you don't have the right to say that!" He tells him, as he tries to wrestle away from the man's tight embrace. 

“No, Peter,” Tony spoke, his hands coming down to hold the back of Peter’s head, guiding it back effortlessly until the teen was once again forced to rest against his body. "I do love you, and I know it’s hard to understand, but you will," 

Peter is furious now, but Tony seemed to have predicted his next move. Just seconds before the teen could strike the man's chest, both of his hands are grabbed and placed back on his lap. “No! Let go! You’re insane!”

And then, Tony continued to repeat those damned words like a mantra "I love you Peter, and you deserve that. Every bit of it."

"Stop it! Stop that! – stop saying that!" Peter cries, the tears spilling out all over again. "Stop throwing around those words like you know it!"

"Shh, it's alright, you're just a little confused, that's all." Tony continued to persist. 

P-please...stop..." Was all Peter could muster before he gives up and sobs into Tony’s chest like an actual child. "I-I hate you, so much." 

"I know," Tony sighed reassuringly, rocking him back and forth, "I know."

"You'll be alright, I promise." 

  
  


...will he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope ya'll enjoyed his chapter, sorry if the story is a little slow-paced and all, I have wayyy too many things I want to write.
> 
> Do leave comments and kudos! They really motivate me ;) Suggestions and ideas are very much welcomed too. Stay safe ♡


	7. The door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's me again! I've been super caught up with school work and assignments recently ( sad life of a vet science student :p ), so it took me a while to come out with this. That aside, thank you for the comments, bookmark and kudos as always :)
> 
> Heads up: this chapter includes vomiting (Definitely not a graphic/ detailed one, but it takes up a small portion of the chapter)

_ "You'll be alright, I promise." _

Those words settled deeply into the back of his head, more comforting than they should have been. Peter is...frightened, to say the least. Shortly after his momentary outburst, a strange feeling had gushed over him, it was warm and fuzzy, the kind that made him feel almost content. 

And that wasn't a good sign.

It had seemed like a nice change, to experience anything besides humiliation, anger or frustration; something that his mind had been accustomed to for the past few weeks. 

But in retrospect? Not so much. Peter refused to think that Tony was anything but a lunatic. 

Luckily for the teen, that fuzzy feeling had diminished entirely and was replaced with the usual sense of mortification by the time he'd woken up to the all too familiar damp feeling on his lower half. 

Peter lets out a small whimper from the sheer embarrassment that he'd just quite literally wet himself in his sleep like a baby. He tried to blame that on every little factor, like how he was still very much sick or how he was overtired from all the crying. 

But the logical part of him knew that those were all excuses, no matter the circumstances, wetting the bed was no normal behaviour expected from a teenager like Peter. He had a terrifying thought that Tony had sedated him again; he hoped that wasn't the case.

He glances over briefly towards the wall where the digital clock was mounted against. 

7:30. 

That explains the dry throat and empty stomach. 

Peter sniffs, noting with some worry that he had slept through dinner. Despite how sickly and tired he felt, the teen was hungry, and for the first time, he wished to be fed some food, even if that meant he'll be strapped down onto that high chair.

Tony wasn't going to leave him like this until the next morning is he?

The in-between state left him feeling unbalanced. Peter wanted nothing more than for Tony to come striding into the room, announcing his arrival in his usual jaunty tone, but at the same time, wanting nothing less than to hide away for the rest of the day.

It's pathetic, he knows, but Peter couldn't help it. The last time he had eaten was hours ago, and whatever fluid in his system must have passed through long ago because Peter was both hungry and thirsty at the same time. Not to mention, how gross he felt from the wet diaper and leaky nose. 

Peter was truly helpless. And as much as he hated his next move, the teen was left with no choice.

He raises his head slightly to get closer to the baby monitor. If Peter had to call out for the man, he wanted to make sure that he was heard on the first try. "H-hey…" 

He's greeted with deafening silence, and Peter starts to get anxious as the minutes pass, but eventually, the door creaks open and Tony peeks his head into the room with a tray on hand. 

"Hey, sleepy boy." was the first thing Tony says as soon as he enters the room. "Sorry it took me a while, daddy was busy with your " – he makes a beeline towards the side table, pushing aside the clutter to place the tray on top – "_ Room service _." 

Peter practically sags in relief, letting out a long sigh before he rests his head on the pillow. 

"You've been sleeping for a while, huh? Almost thought you'll never wake up," Tony says with a chuckle and unlocks the restraints, sliding his hands under Peter's arms to sit him up. The kid was usually due for a change after a nap, so it wasn't surprising in the slightest when the blanket had slipped off, revealing Peter's bottom half and the noticeable swell on his crotch.

"Do you need your diapers changed before we eat, baby? Or can you wait until I give you a sponge bath later on?" Tony asks, giving Peter a shoulder pat to grasp his attention when he seemed to be looking away from the embarrassment. 

"I'd like to eat first," Peter mumbles, cheeks turning deep red with humiliation. Tony's tone was hardly a mocking one, but still, he wished the man hadn't been so blunt with his predicament.

With a nod, Tony turns his attention back to the tray of food and peels off the layer of cling wrap, thankful that the kid at least had an appetite.

Peter watches idly as Tony stirs the steaming bowl of food and his stomach grows as soon as he catches a waft of the egg porridge. It wasn't the usual slap-up meals they had for every dinner, but it was aptly enough for a sick person like him.

Tony scoops a spoonful of the porridge and holds it up to the kid's half-opened mouth "Here, eat up while it's nice and warm," 

The kid inhales his food like he doesn't think he'll see more for a week, opening his mouth wide after each mouthful. "Hey, Woah, slow down, Pete. It's not going anywhere." The sight is hilarious and Tony has to cover his mouth to stifle a laugh. "_ Anywhere _besides your tummy of course," he adds, sending a playful poke on the kid's belly. 

It wasn't until when the bowl was half empty did Peter realize how childish he looked. That thought was enough to falter his pace, and this time, he makes sure to eat much slower until the bowl was mostly empty. 

"All done?" Tony asks as he wipes off the stray bits of rice and spring onion stuck on the corners of his mouth. A small bashful nod is all he gives for a response.

Peter is told to stay put while daddy (his words, not Peter's) heads down to grab a washcloth. He knows that the washcloth won't be the only thing Tony would come back with if he intends to carry on with the usual bedtime routine, but he decides to keep his mouth shut, knowing that it was a dumb move to sass back. 

Besides, the teen was thankful that his basic needs were met. That was all that mattered, for now. 

And just as he anticipated, Tony walks back into the nursery with the usual two detestable items, a picture book and a bottle of formula. Held in his other hand, was a washbasin, which Peter recognizes as the same one from the bathroom. 

Ever since he had realized the loophole, his mind had been occupied and oddly fixated to the bathroom, solidifying his want to escape. It wasn't exactly easy to get his mind off once he had gotten a glimpse of the outside area. 

But Tony can't hear his thoughts, and Peter is lifted from the bed bridal style and brought over to the changing table. "Come on buddy, let's get you cleaned up," 

"C-cold!" Peter whines, shivering and stiffening the second Tony strips him down until he's clad in nothing but a diaper. 

"Easy, Pete, I'll get you warm in a bit," Tony placates and drapes a large towel over the kid to prove his point. 

Once Peter had somewhat relaxed, he grabs the washcloth from the basin and wrings out the excess water before the soft material is gently rubbed across the kid's face, the man makes sure to be through with the upper lip area, which had gotten crusty from the dried-up snot. He then peels off the towel and works up from his hands, arms, shoulders, chest, covering the exposed area back up before he moves on to his legs and feet. 

Another whine escapes when the diaper is untaped, and this time, Tony had to actively settle the teen down by giving him a pat on the thigh. 

Peter continues to blush throughout the whole time as his ankles are held together and lifted so that Tony could thoroughly clean his bottom. Though he had to admit, the warm washcloth was a nice change from the usual cold, wet wipes.

Truthfully, Peter had no idea why he's been acting all whiny and worked up since this morning, especially when he had gotten used to the diaper changes. It wasn't like he had gone number two again either, and that made him all the more confused. 

For a while, Peter does nothing but to comply as a clean diaper was taped up snugly around his waist. Even closing his eyes for a bit, basking in the comfortable silence while Tony walks over to the wardrobe to fetch his sleepwear.

But surprise surprise, the man decides to ruin the silence the moment he's back with a piece of shark decorated coveralls.

"Pete?" Tony asks gently, voice barely above a whisper. 

He'd been expecting the man to continue, but he falters, and Peter is greeted with a pregnant pause. He recognizes that tone, it's cautious and hesitant...like a bombshell of a secret was about to be dropped on him. 

Whatever it was, the payoff couldn't be positive.

_ Uh oh. _

"What happened back there?"

Peter blinks, genuinely confused with his question.

"My bad, that was a little too vague, huh." Tony stops for a moment and tries again. "Remember how you told daddy you were sad earlier today? Why's that so?"

He shrugs. 

"What was going on in your head baby? What made you so upset?" 

Peter inwardly groans, part of him knew that this was coming, considering how badly he had broken down earlier today. But then again, he was ill, so he hadn't been expecting it to come right off the bat. The teen contemplates his next answer. 

The easy way out was to lie of course, but Peter knew how quick those white lies could snowball into a disaster.

Peter shakes his head, "I don't want to talk about it."

There, he's said it. It wasn't exactly the smartest response, but technically he wasn't lying, and that was all he could think of now. 

Tony sighs, like he's expected the answer. "Alright, that's okay," he tells him. Which was a lie, obviously Pete wasn't okay and he was dying to know. There's a million things he needs to ask, that they need to talk about, but he's not sure right now is the time for that.

He decides to drop the topic, deeming that this wasn't the best time to push it.

"I think we both had a long day, don't you think?" The last button is snapped shut, and Tony carries the kid over to the couch, grabbing the bottle on the way. 

Not long after the man had wrapped Peter up in a throw blanket to keep the winter chill out, the room falls into silence, and the teen begins to suckle on the bottle of formula. He stirs and reaches out for the blanket, fumbling his hands around in the dimly lit room to find the corners of the fabric, bunching it into his fists. 

Peter pulls the blanket closer to his chest and sighs. It's a childish habit, but he couldn't seem to help it. After all, the teen was a sucker for soft things, and he'd been using that blanket for well over a week. And as much as he didn't want to give Tony the satisfaction, It was hard not to form an attachment to the fuzzy fleece material, oddly reminiscent of his well-loved stuffed toy. 

Halfway through the bottle, his eyelids begin to flutter, and Peter fights it with all of his might, rubbing at his eyes to keep them open. Tony notices this and catches his hands, gently pushing it away from his face. 

"You're still sick," Tony whispers to him as he cards through his hair. "Your body needs to rest, and then when you get all better, we can play to your heart's content. But for now, sleep."

And for once, Peter has to agree with the man. It's logical; sleep meant recovery and recovery meant that he'd be able to go back into routine. 

Except, he wasn't going to play when he did, he was going to fucking escape.

The teen closes his eyes, resting against Tony's chest while said man pulls the bottle away, wiping the corner of his mouth with his sleeve. Peter couldn't bear to wake up in this hellhole for another day longer; to go through the humiliation all over again. He wants to _ go home. _

"Good night, Peter." Was the last thing he hears before sleep takes over him. 

****

Peter is rudely roused at some ungodly hour by a pounding headache and a scorching body. He's a little confused, because his hands are cold and clammy, and yet, his forehead feels like it's on fire; almost as if he's overheating and freezing at the same time. 

That's when he feels a cold hand, resting against his flushed cheek. Peter looks up at the face above him, brows furrowing in confusion.

"T-Tony?"

"_ Daddy _." The man corrects instantly, though he didn't seem to be affronted by his slip of the tongue. Peter is thankful for that; he doesn't think he could take a punishment right now, not at this moment. "Pete, I'm going to need you to sit up for a while, that okay?"

"– why?" 

"You're feeling a little warm," Tony explains, "So we gotta check that up, just in case." 

Peter nods, swallowing hard and flinching at his dry mouth. "M' thirsty." 

"I know, I know. I'll get you something to drink once we take your temperature, alright?" 

For the next minute, Peter barely registers as he's pulled into the man's lap, head resting on his chest, while Tony helps to keep the thermometer in place. 

"S’ it bad?" Peter asks the second it beeps.

"Hm, a little, but we can manage," Tony says while trying to school his expression into something neutral, forehead creasing with concern at the reading. He's pretty sure 39.8 degrees was far from okay, and he _ really _ wants to freak out right now. 

It was a daunting experience for Tony after all, what was meant to be a quick stop to the kid's room just to make sure he was fast asleep, soon turned into a shit show for the man. He felt his heart metaphorically sink when Peter's temperature had seemed to spike up just 3 hours after he'd put him to sleep. 

But he quickly chases that thought away. _ No _, this wasn't like those times where he was allowed to be his usual reckless self; where he could skip the whole damn day by losing himself in the workshop. There was no Pepper, no Rhody, not even Steve. 

Tony was alone in this. 

He huffs to collect himself. "How are you feeling?" 

"Hot, cold, head hurts." Usually, Peter would have tried to downplay it a little, but the fever must have done a number on him, rendering him impossible to keep that facade. 

"I-I was getting better." 

"Yeah, you were, buddy." Tony gently feels the kid's cheeks with the back of his hands and makes a small noise of concern. He leans forward to grab the sippy cup with his free hand, glancing down at Peter and angling the spout to his lips "That happens sometimes, immunity and all that. It gets worse before it gets better, you know?" he says, though he would never admit that the reassurance was meant for none other than himself. 

Peter pauses for a moment, working the words through his tired mind, "Okay." 

"That's a good boy, we're all done here. You wanna go back to sleep now?” Tony watches as the kid murmurs something in which he could barely make it out as a yes. 

He takes that as a cue to gently ease him back down on the mattress, "Close your eyes, Pete. If you need me, I'll be right here." He says, motioning to the couch across the room. 

Tony plops down on the couch, giving Peter a once over to make sure he's settled. Soon after, the room fills with silent snores, although it sounded more like snuffles and the man softly pads out of the room, grabbing the stacks of files from his work desk and back to Peter's. 

It seemed a little over the top to hover over the kid like that, but he doesn't think he could get any sort of work done with Peter constantly on his mind but away from his sight. 

He wonders if this is what parental worry feels like.

For the rest of the night, Tony flips through his documents, fiddling with his phone to clear up whatever piled up work he's left with. Every once in a while, he'd leave the couch to check on Peter, replacing the ice pack whenever it got lukewarm and resting a palm on the kid's forehead to gauge the fever, because that's what parents did to their sick child, wasn't it?

Relief, is the first thing he feels when he finds that Peter's cheeks were cooler to the touch, by the time the first rays of sunshine begin to peer through the curtains. The kid's fever must have finally ebbed away. 

Tony runs his hands through his dishevelled hair, he was, for the lack of a better word, both physically and mentally exhausted. Not that he seemed to mind, hell, he'd do it all over again if that could help the kid. 

So no, Tony was just…criminally inexperienced in this field of job. Though, he supposes that there was a first time to everything and taking care of a sick Peter was just one of their milestones of living together. 

****

If Peter had thought that Tony was overprotective since he had fallen sick, then the little hiccup from last night must have made it worse. His temperature had gone down to a normal range by the time afternoon had rolled by, but the man was still adamant on the idea for Peter to remain on bed rest for the remainder of the day. 

He'd never thought he'd say this, but the teen wished he'd been brought over to the playroom like Tony usually would at this time. It was pretty dull on its own to be surrounded by legos and toy cars of course, but still, it beat lying around on the bed, which left Peter bored out of his mind with nothing but a tablet that played Disney Jr shows on repeat, meant to keep him occupied for an hour or so. 

Perhaps it was the less than engaging storyline of the show, or the post-lunch food coma that finally caught up on Peter, because he began to nod off shortly after Tony had left his room. He didn't mind that at all, grateful even, for he would have gone insane from watching Paw Patrol for the 10th time. 

It had been close to three o'clock when Peter was once again abruptly woken up with an unpleasant feeling in the stomach. Suddenly, It seemed like the bowl of soup he had for lunch wasn't agreeing with him. He groans, closing his eyes shut to go back to sleep, hoping to sleep away the pain.

However, Peter only seemed to grow even more distressed by the second as the pain soon changes into something different. His stomach was churning, almost as if it was doing summersaults.

Another second passes, and that's when everything goes south for the poor teen. He could now feel the bile rising to this throat, and Peter heaves in a desperate attempt to keep the damned thing down. Unable to get up, the teen could only clench the bedsheets, waves of nausea adding on to his misery.

Not good. 

"D-Daddy!" 

That was the last thing Peter had managed to muster before he instinctively turned his head to the side, retching all of his lunch up. He groans, gagging harshly at the pungent smell, the fact that he was tied up securely on the bed had made everything worse, rendering him unable to move away from the puddle of vomit. 

Peter manages to draw in a shaky breath when the vomiting ceases for a moment, but the smell causes him to gag, and he's soon hit by a second wave of nausea. 

Which was why he barely noticed when Tony had barged into his room.

"Peter? I heard you calling me, what happ–" Tony had been about to complete his sentence, but the second he enters the room, the wave of smell hits him and he stops dead in his tracks like a deer in the headlights.

His alarmed gaze meets Peter, completely aghast when he sees vomit splattered all over the sheets, that however, wasn't the worst part of the scene he's stepped in. Instead, It was the pained, distressed expression plastered all over the kid's face that absolutely crushed his heart. Immediately, Tony rushes over to the kid, wincing when Peter whimpers pitifully.

"Oh jeez, here, let's just –" Tony says, unlocking the restraints and helping the kid to sit up in a hunched position. He notices how Peter continues to heave and shudder, which was usually a precursor to a second round of puking.

There wasn't much he could do, but to rub Peter's back and stay by his side through the awful retches, while tossing the blanket and pillow away to the far corner of the bed for damage control. "It's okay, kiddo, just get it out, you'll feel much better that way." 

That was all the prompting he needed before Peter lurched forward to unceremoniously throw up all over the bed for the second time. He bunches a good portion of the sheets; nails dug fiercely into the fabric in an attempt to ground himself while he forced everything up and out, heaving until there was nothing left. 

Peter felt woozy, his throat sore from the acid and mouth tasting like puke. Once his stomach felt a little more at ease, he surveys the mess before him with watery eyes; most of the vomit had ended up on the sheets, but that didn't mean his clothes were spared. It had somehow managed to find it's way down to his top, and even his pants which Tony had changed him in just an hour ago. 

"M' sorry! I'm so, so sorry!" Peter blubbers, tears leaking from his eyes and overwhelmed with a pang of guilt when he realized he had pretty much ruined the sheets and clothes. Peter hoped that there were at least extra layers underneath. 

As much as he hated Tony, Peter knew the man would buy a new set of mattress all together if it were to be stained, which would then, in turn, make him feel even worse than he already was. Peter didn't want that. 

"Hey, hey, don't be sorry," Tony reassures, "It's fine, happens to the best of us, right?" 

"T- The sheets, c-clothes...I didn't mean-" more tears slipped down his cheeks as Peter continues to sob, but he's quickly cut off when the man pulls out a couple of wet wipes, cleaning up most of the mess left on his mouth and chin.

"It's just fabric, Petey, no biggie. Toss it in the machine, and it'll wash out easily," Tony stated, reaching out to wipe the tears from the kid's face and drool trailing down from the corners of his lips. He's a little surprised that he hadn't found that act disgusting in the least bit. 

Pushing that thought aside, Tony strips off the sheets from the bed, balling them up in a way that the contents weren't going to spill out. All in one smooth motion, he grabs a new set of clothes from the closet, draping them over his shoulder and lifting Peter up with his other free hand. "We'll go over to the bathroom for a quick clean up, okay?" Tony looks down at the kid, holding him tightly as he makes his way to the bathroom. 

As expected, he doesn't get a reply. Peter clears his throat and sniffs, clearly experiencing some sort of discomfort from the earlier incident. He blinks blearily at Tony with tired eyes, and up close, the kid looks…. so startlingly young, vulnerable and miserable. 

Tony unthinkingly drops his head on the mop of curls, taking a deep breath. "Oh bud, I know it's not nice to be sick." 

Then, Peter does something neither of them would have ever expected.

Though hesitantly, Peter sluggishly extends an arm to hug him around the neck, resting his cheeks on Tony's chest and letting the man bear most of the weight. He reeks of vomit, and his back is drenched in sweat despite the chilly weather, but the man doesn't think of letting go. 

With one wrong move, the kid could be scampering off into his metaphorical den like a frightened wild animal.

And as much as Tony would have liked for that moment to last longer, they eventually arrive at the bathroom, and he sets the kid down on his feet. 

"G-Gross," Peter whimpers, "It's gross."

"Sure is," Tony hums in agreement, undoing the buttons on the top as fast as he can. He peels the stained material away, tugging it down his arms. It lands with a wet smack against the pristine tiles of the bathroom and Tony silently thanked himself that he had dressed the kid in button-up pyjamas, wrangling him out of a dirty shirt would have been a pain in the ass. 

"We can't have vomit to smell like roses, right bub?" He crouches down to yank Peter's pants down to his ankles, motioning for the kid to step out from them and finally, ripping off the tabs of the used diaper. 

The bathroom fills with warm, thick steam when the shower is turned on, and Peter sighs in content at the perfect pressure and temperature, grateful that he no longer smelled like puke by the time he's rinsed off, dried and dressed into a new set of clothes. His stomach had mostly settled and the tears drew to a stop, though the exhaustion had increased tenfold. Tony seemed to catch on this, and he's lifted off and placed on the man's hip.

"Think you can handle a drink?" Tony asks, and Peter nods, not bothering to look up. He doesn't know what possessed him to throw his arms around the man's neck for the second time of the day, resting his head into the crook of it.

It was becoming a weird day for the both of them.

They make a quick stop to the kitchen, and Tony fetches a bottle of drink from the fridge, which Peter guessed it was the same electrolyte drink from the day before. 

It hardly fazed him when the man had put him down on the floor briefly to transfer the drink into a spare sippy cup, too used to the idea of drinking his fluids from either a bottle or a sippy cup. His lips hadn't touched the rim of a cup in a while; same goes for his ass which hadn't touched the toilet seat since the day he was taken away. 

The day gets even weirder when Tony walks right past the nursery and down the hallway with Peter hooked on his hips. Furrowing his brows in confusion, the teen looked on as they turned to an unfamiliar hall. What was up?

"Where are we going?" He squirms a little from Tony's steady grip, craning his neck over the man's neck to get a better view of his surroundings. 

"We're going to daddy's room buddy; it'll be good to leave your room for a while, open up the windows to let some fresh air in." 

“I could just...go back to m- the room,” Peter says, barely biting back the ‘my’. It’s true that he’d been spending most of the time in the nursery, but something in him had stopped the teen from associating himself with that place.

“Nuh-uh, not when it’s 10 degrees out there,” Tony retorts.

Tony stops in front of a plain white door, and together, they enter a room, almost twice the size as the nursery, but not larger than the playroom. 

The room is like a perfect magazine cover, the kind that makes him afraid to sit in case he wrinkles the fabric or stain it with something unknowingly. There was an unframed window wall which let in a pool of natural sunlight, allowing a perfect, unobstructed view of the ocean; like a living mural. 

It still made sense to be Tony's room though. Upon closer inspection, Peter could make out some personal touches; something that doesn't suggest a hired designer has chosen it. There were bits and pieces of half-assembled techs sprawled across on what appeared to be the man's working desk, stacks of unorganized documents, a coffee maker and a chintzy looking mug which has seen better days. 

Peter doesn't get to look around any further, because as soon as the door was closed behind them, Tony takes him straight to the other side of the room and plants him onto the king-sized bed.

"Here, try to drink half of it," Tony says while handing the sippy cup to Peter. "Do you need the room to be darker?" 

Peter nods, gulping the mildly sweet and tangy drink. The room dims out in an instant, and he looks over to the window wall, turning bug-eyed when the glass has tinted into a darker shade. 

Electric tinted windows. Peter knew those existed, but seeing them up close, at such a large scale was still impressive. 

"Bear with me for a little while kiddo, I'll take you back to your room after dinner. Until then, try to get some sleep here." Tony places a hand on the teen's back, guiding him to lay down while he takes the half-empty sippy cup away. Peter follows willingly, sniffling thickly from the congestion as he allows Tony to lift the covers to drape it over him. 

The teen turns to his side immediately, pleased to find that no restraints were holding him down. He presses his cheeks against the cool surface of the pillow. The duvet cover was voluptuous and irresistibly soft, like a billowing cloud and Peter burrows into the warmth, peering over the edge of the covers with tired eyes. 

It felt weird to sleep without bars. 

"Yeah that's right, get comfortable, the bed's all yours for now." 

Peter closes his eyes and hums. 

"You'll be okay, _ everything's _ okay," Tony murmurs, leaning in to rub the kid's back in soothing circles. "Tomorrow, you'll feel better, and then we can make up for all this boredom with a fun day, yeah? Maybe extra playtimes and a warm bath. We can even add some watermelon scented bubble bath soap. That sound like a plan to you, kid?"

The answer was _no_, that didn't sound like a plan at all. Those were all childish things, and if that was Tony's definition of 'fun', the man needed some serious help. And when he meant _help_, it meant that a mental hospital would lock the man up in a cell. 

Peter stays awake for a while, but not long enough to notice Tony had briefly left the room to throw the wet sheets and clothes into the hot wash with heaps of detergent, hoping that it would get rid of the stains by the time they were out from the machine. 

Tony finds Peter to be fast asleep when he's back at the master bedroom. The kid was out like a light; the covers kicked off slightly. The man instantly tucks him back, and Peter stirs – his features were much softer in his sleep, he looked so young at this moment, like he truly was just a little kid; _ his _ kid.

He sits down heavily on the swivel chair with a grunt and turns towards his work desk, cringing at the never-ending barrage of paperwork in need of his signature and unanswered emails. All of that on top of the blueprints he had to send down to the R&D department of SI.

Tony had really hoped that making Pepper the CEO would have cut down on the workload. It did somehow, but not nearly as much he expected it to be. The man was well into his 40's, and he wasn't feeling exactly spry either; the lost sleep from the night before starting to catch up with him with every passing minute. 

Tony sighs.

Back to work. 

****

Peter felt like all he was doing for the past two days was falling asleep and waking up again.

This time, he wakes up fully ensconced, warm and snug under the large duvet covers. Sluggishly, he untangles himself from the covers and finds that he's able to stretch his arms and legs. Weird. 

He yawns and sits himself up, resting against the headboard. For a split second, he couldn't remember where he was, but it quickly came flooding back.

The man, he was in the man's room.

Peter's cheeks turned deep scarlet, recalling the earlier events with a jolt of embarrassment. If puking all over his bed wasn't humiliating enough on its own, the idea of cleaning up after his own vomit hadn't even crossed his mind. Instead, all he did was to cry and cling onto his kidnapper while Tony took care of the mess left behind. 

He didn't even protest. Peter had just….allowed Tony to do it. 

Speaking of Tony.

He frowns, letting his eyes drift to the other side of the room, and there he was, sitting in front of the desk on a lavish-looking recliner chair, back faced towards Peter. The light of the holographic display was casting a blue glow on Tony's face, allowing the teen to see that the man was slumped over his desk, head faced down and tucked into his crossed arms. 

The room was filled with silence, save for occasional soft snores which seemed to be coming from the man.

Was...Tony sleeping?

"Uh-hey," Peter whispers, half expecting Tony to wake up with that. 

_ Silence. _

"Daddy?" he tries again, pushing the covers away and inching forward to have a closer look. The teen watched for a full minute for any signs of movement, but he stayed statue-still on the chair. 

"Tony?" 

The only reply Peter gets is another snore, and he's already on the edge of the bed, staring with intent as the man's back continues to rise and fall. 

Yup, definitely asleep. 

Strangely enough, Peter's heart rate begins to pick up, but he isn't sure_ why _. It wasn't like he could do anything with his new predicament. Yes, there weren't any restraints holding him down, and the man was fast asleep, but the door was locked, so he wasn't going anywhere. 

Unless… unless it wasn't.

Peter’s eyes casted towards the door, his heart pounding inside his chest. 

The teen had to do a double-take. There's a delirious moment where Peter's face washed blank with sheer shock, like the gears in his brains couldn't turn fast enough to take in the information. 

But when Peter finally registers the sight before him, he knows that he could no longer unsee what he's just seen. 

The door was _ opened, _it wasn't fully ajar – just a little crack, barely enough for the lights from the hallway to cast a silver lining on the marble tiles of the man's room. But holy shit, it was opened!

It's like the wind had been knocked out of his lungs. Peter's wide-eyed gaze quickly pinballs between the door and Tony, who was snoozing away on the chair, blissfully unaware of his grand scheme. 

Peter could escape, all he had to do was to sneak out from the room, run straight to the bathroom and climb out of the window. It would go as planned, just like how he had rehearsed in his mind, over and over for the past two weeks. And then, he'll be awarded the ultimate prize, the one thought that had him kept sane and grounded – _ freedom _.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are greatly appreciated! Feel free to drop in prompts or ideas, I'd love to hear them ;)  
Also, I've been reading back the old chapters and boy did it make me CRINGE, I'll probably make some tweaks to it when I have the time to do so kdkddk


	8. Blanket

Peter's jittery, his nerves getting the best of him as he glances over to the clock for what seemed like the tenth time.  _ 6:30. _

It's in the middle of December now, and he doesn't have much time before the sun fully sets, making it harder to navigate around the woods. With one shaky breath in, he scoots out of bed, landing silently on his feet. 

He has to get out of here,  _ fast _ . 

The crucial part would be walking past the desk and most importantly, Tony. He had to be stealthy and quiet as possible, the man was fast asleep, but that didn't mean the slightest of sounds couldn't alert him awake. It was nerve-wracking, but Peter had to be grateful that the door was opened. All he had to do was to push through it silently, and the rest would be a breeze.

A soft snore from the man forces Peter out of his thoughts. Already his heart rate was accelerating, pounding so loudly in his chest that it's starting to hurt. 

In all honesty, Peter doesn’t know how far he’ll be able to go before the man catches on his escape plan. He’ll be thoroughly fucked if it fails, and it wasn’t easy to take a step forward when he doesn’t know where his foot will fall, but what other choices did he have? The door, the window – he's got all the factors laid out for him, and he’ll be damned if he doesn't at least give it a try. 

Inch by inch, Peter tiptoed across the room, one step every twenty seconds, pausing whenever the man stirred and then continuing after a few beats of silence. He could barely hear his own footsteps, padding against the marbled tiles. The room is filled with dead silence, and suddenly, everything starts to feel so...unreal, almost as if it's a dream too good to be true. 

But when he finally gets to the door, shouldering it open to slip pass the slightly enlarged crack, Peter realises that yes, this was in fact,  _ real. _

He emerges from the master bedroom and into the hallway, it's a struggle to not make a mad dash towards the bathroom. But he pulls through, knowing that the commotion would immediately wake Tony up. Peter couldn't afford to let that happen.

His mind races a mile a minute as he makes his way through the long hallway, the clean, white walls stretching on for what felt like hours. He takes a turn, and passes by the all too familiar door of the playroom, which meant that the nursery was close by. 

Void of its occupant, the nursery is unsurprisingly unlocked and wide opened. Peter isn't sure what had possessed him to do so, but he takes a quick peek into the room to find that the once bare mattress was now neatly fitted with a new set of bed sheets, the pillow and blanket placed back into its rightful places. Tony must have tidied the room while he was asleep.

There's a strange sense of remorse at the back of his mind, but why is that so? Peter stands statue-still at the door frame for a split second, but soon after, he pads into the room; almost like an unknown force had sucked him in. 

The teen walks further in, and towards the couch where the throw blanket was draped on. He reaches out, curling his fingers into the soft fleece material and without a second thought, he swiftly pulls the blanket away from the armrest and wraps his arms around it, hugging it closer to his chest.

Guilt.

That's what Peter feels right now. It's weird because he's been asleep all this while, and yet, the images come flooding into his mind like he'd been there watching Tony scrubbing off the dirty sheets, fixing the bed and switching on the diffuser to get rid of the smell. 

Part of him wants to scoff at the man, for wasting his time to clean those vomit stained sheets, tidying up the nursery like he was some goddamned maid, because Peter was getting out tonight, and Tony was never going to see him again.

And he'll never see Tony again either.

That was a good thing. It  _ had  _ to be. Leaving this place meant that he'd no longer wake up in a crib or have another bath time or playtime. He never has to piss in a diaper again or get punished for swearing, he could stay up all night, and nobody could tell him otherwise. 

Though, he had to admit that the bedtime stories weren't so bad, they were well...almost comforting in a way, he liked falling asleep while someone was talking to him. Hell, even the bedtime bottles and cuddles were bearable once he'd gotten past the initial embarrassment.

Maybe he should have at least stayed up for the story last night.

A full minute passes, and that's when Peter realises he's still hugging the blanket to his chest, the corner of the fabric disappeared into his mouth. 

And he was chewing on it.

Fuck, this whole ordeal – this weird baby toddler treatment must have really messed up with his mind. He needs an intense session of counselling after this; he has to calm down, think about what he'll do after he escapes.

Peter refused to let himself fall into the world he'd been forcefully thrown into. He couldn't go back now, bad idea or not, it was too late to chicken out.

The adrenaline floods back into his system like it's on an intravenous drip; right into his blood at full pelt. Then quickly, with one last look around the nursery, throw blanket clutched tightly in his shaky hands, Peter bolts out of the room before his second thoughts could get the better of him again.

His muscles are working on autopilot as he navigates through the rest of the hallway, he wishes he could quell the hammering in his chest, but there's no way that will happen now – not when he's stuck between the two choices before his eyes: the stairs and elevator.

He contemplates. The stairs were spiralled, which meant it could take a few more seconds to reach the second floor. Time was limited, so at first glance, the elevator seemed like a better idea. 

But he had to remind himself that it was an enclosed area, Peter would be forced to halt his momentum while it travelled down, which would essentially mean that he'd be trapped in the little box. He doesn't think he could stand that. 

Deeming that it was a task too unsafe, Peter decides to ditch the elevator and go for the stairs.

Peter is sure he's never felt so nervous opening a door in his life. He reaches forward to push the folding door of the bathroom, but hesitates. He stares at the frosted plastic panels, as if something or someone was about to leap out and bite his head off.

"Alright...okay," he mutters to himself as he tries to calm his nerves and pounding heart. With one shaky breath and a whole lot of determination, Peter wastes no time to step into the bathroom as soon as the door is unceremoniously pushed open. He closes and locks it shut for good measure.

Peter tries not to tear up as his gaze flickers over to the wide opened window – his beacon of hope. The orange-gold sunlight from the window stretches far and wide across the floor, like it's some sort of runway that leads him; guiding him to the outside world. 

His barefoot comes in contact with the cold tiles, relief washing over him like a tidal wave, making him feel almost light-headed. Peter stumbles over to the bathtub, holding on to the rim to prevent himself from collapsing.

Things were simple from this point, as soon as he climbs over the window, all he had to do was to run for his dear fucking life. He had to be fast; he doesn't know long it would be before Tony wakes up; the first thing he'll do is to check on Peter.

But first…

Peter reaches down to hook his fingers under the waistband of his pants, pulling it down to his knees. Nothing had ever been as liberating to him as he ripped off the diaper, yanking it off and tossing it into the far corner with thinly veiled disgust. As much as Peter wanted to avoid going on commando, a diaper was the last thing he needed to hinder with his speed.

The bathtub, similarly to the bathroom, wasn't spared from its over the top design. Which meant that the edges were thick enough for Peter to have a proper footing while he makes his way to the ledge of the window. 

It was going to be easy, Peter knew it.

After a quick glance to the folded door, just to make sure that Tony wasn't approaching any sooner, Peter hastily climbs over and sets both of his feet onto the edge of the tub.

He could do this. 

Peter abandons his caution as he finally climbs out of the window. His arms are shaky, and he barely manages to cling onto the window sill. Ignoring the knot in his stomach, he wriggles out one leg at a time until his feet finally land on the cold soil.

The first thing Peter wanted and had to do was run, but everything felt too real. The cool, crisp air hits his face with a whoosh, brushing past his flushed cheeks and sweaty forehead, scattering the dead leaves as it scuds over the ground, taking small flights into the air. Through watery eyes, the teen watches as the sun falls  behind the horizon, golden rays casting the billowing clouds, turning them bright red; fire red.

Peter continues to bask in his new predicament for a minute, until a sudden gust of wind hits him for the second time. The teen frowns, noting with some worry that perhaps, he had underestimated the cold tonight – He's currently barefooted, with only a single layer of clothing to last himself throughout the night. Save for the throw blanket which he'd pilfered from the nursery in haste earlier. 

Well, not really. Peter had long claimed the blanket to be _ his.  _

Right now, Tony was asleep, or at least he had no reason to believe that he wasn't. Still, turning back to the mansion to grab a few extra clothes wasn't an option, Peter would never forgive himself if he ends up getting caught. 

When Peter took a hesitant step forward, his head began to swim, making him falter. He was...shaking.

Why was he shaking?

"Everything's fine; it's almost over," Peter speaks to himself, repeating those words like a new mantra. It did little to calm his nerves, but it helped to fill the deafening silence. "You're good, Peter, you're doing great." he half vertically folds the throw blanket, draping it over his shoulders and wrapping it around the back of his neck into a makeshift scarf. It wasn't much of a protection, but it'll at least be something. 

Desperately, the teen recalls the 4-7-8 breathing technique he'd taught himself after May's passing. Peter forces one calming breath after another, willing his muscles to relax and heart to slow. 

Four seconds in, seven seconds hold, eight seconds out, four in….seven hold, eight out...

To his greatest relief, Peter finds himself to be calmer than before. They hadn't been kidding when they said the breathing exercise was like a natural tranquilliser for the nervous system. 

He takes a step forward, and another, and then another. With every step, his pace quickens and finally, Peter sprints at full speed, not once looking back at the mansion.

****

Even before Tony's sleep-addled brain registered the silence, he knew something was awfully wrong. 

He stood up from his chair with a jolt, snapping his head back and letting his eyes drift across the room. It looked exactly the same as the last time he was awake, except that well…

Peter was nowhere to be seen.

Terrified, Tony looked high and low around the room, called out for the kid a couple of times, only to be met with the same absolute silence. When the master bedroom was ruled out, he rushed into the nursery, half hoping to find a sleeping Peter. _ Nothing.  _ The same went for the playroom. 

He continued his search around the mansion; Tony frantically looked from one room to another – the kitchen, the dining room, anywhere that the kid could have gone to. It wasn't until when Tony had barged into every single place did he realise, that he had missed out one place in the house. 

The bathroom. 

Tony's speculation had hit the nail on the head, because the door was locked from the inside, which meant that Peter was most definitely behind those frosted panels. 

"Pete?" he called out again, "Are you alright in there?"

There was no answer, and so, Tony gripped the door handle, set his feet on the ground and slammed his shoulder on the door  _ hard.  _

Tony flipped on the switch, sheer dread creeping on the man like an icy chill as soon as he saw the empty bathroom. The only thing remotely close to the kid was a ripped off diaper, thrown across the corner of the floor. A draft of cold air sweeps through the window, brushing through Tony's face and he looked up. It didn't take long for the man to put two and two together.

The kid had escaped from the window.

He's emotions dangerously fluctuated between worry, anger and fear. But most of all, he felt betrayed. In his muddled state of mind, Tony slid the coat hanging on the rack over his shoulders. 

The man was never the kind who liked to rely on someone, but he was desperate, the sun had set entirely by now, and the temperature must have dipped close to five degrees. Peter absolutely could not be left alone in such a situation. He slipped out the phone from his left pocket and held it to his ear, walking over to the front entrance of the house.

"Steve?" he said as soon as the phone was picked up with a distinctive 'click'.

"Hey, Tony –"

"It's Peter, he – he's gone," 

There was a brief pause on the line as Steve was cut off and he fell silent for a moment, most likely waiting for Tony to add on before he spoke, "...What? How?"

Tony ran a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth as his brain tried to churn up ways to explain his predicament. "The kid's been sick for the past two days, brought him over to my room to keep an eye on him. I figured it was fine to doze off for a couple of hours. Couldn't find him anywhere the next time I woke up," he recapped. "Shit, Steve - my kid - Peter, he threw up just hours ago… he's probably cold and starving out there!"

"Hey, Tony, deep breaths, please. Listen to me," Steve said, speaking calmly as ever. Tony could almost imagine that he had his hands lifted outwards, palms down in a placating manner at the other end of the phone. "We've gone through this before with Bucky remember? Countless times."

"This isn't the same as the last time! It's in the middle of December right now, don't you know what that means?" the pacing continued, "Fuck - I can't do this, let me get the car -"

A long sigh sounded from the other end, " _ Tony _ ," Steve said, and he sounded serious, like whatever he was about to say was final, no arguments allowed. "That's not the point, alright? What I meant is"– there's some rustling heard from the background, followed by a metallic jiggle of the keys – "that he'll be fine, the gates will keep him safe, like it or not, the kid's not going far, and you know that."

"Right… yeah, sorry." Tony said after a short moment, his tone a little defeated. "I know that. I just - you know how it feels."

"Sure do, I had enough scares with Bucky alone in the past two years," Steve replied, "You go look for him in the woods, and I'll keep an eye on the streets."

"Hey- uh Steve, do me a favour will ya?'

"Yeah?"

"He's a smart kid, might've headed down to the streets to find a home to knock on for help and –"

"Alright, alright, I get it." Steve chuckles knowingly. "You want me to take him in, is that right?"

"Mhm, you know me too well."

Steve made a small indifferent murmur, most likely nodding in agreement. "It's not that hard, Tony, we're the only ones that live within the gates." he paused before he spoke again. "Right, I'll keep Peter safe if he comes by. I've got some leftovers from dinner and a pack of hot chocolate. Hopefully, he'll be up for those." 

"Thanks, just….give me a call, I'll pick him up," Tony spoke as he ended the call, still in his panicked state but feeling more at ease than he had felt before. An exasperated sigh slips from his lips as he grabbed a flashlight on the way before he headed out to the front door.

The next few days weren't going to be pleasant for either of them.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed reading! 
> 
> This chap was actually meant to be 6.8k words but I decided to break it up into two since it felt a little too long (I'll usually try to keep each chap within 5k ).  
Also, I've been super busy with school lately and I figured it'll be better if I have one or two prewritten chapters saved in case something comes by and I become too busy to write anything new.
> 
> Please check out [ my Tumblr ](https://kinakomanjyu.tumblr.com/) I'm still figuring out my way around it but feel free to send me your prompts, headcanons or asks :)


	9. Brooklyn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little note to those who don't live in the US (like me ): I actually did a poll in my IG, asking if my friends knew that Brooklyn and Queens are close by ( 30mins according to google ) and that they are part of NY. 99% of my friends said no, so this note is meant as a heads up to you guys, since it's kind of relevant to the last part of this chap.

Peter is running.

The adrenaline coursing through his veins was the only thing that was keeping him going right now. His heart pumps so wildly and fast that Peter could almost hear the beating in his ears.

Not more than an hour ago, the sky was painted with hues of red and orange. But now that the night has fallen, all of those colours were replaced with nothing but darkness, allowing the teen to see at most an arm's reach in front of himself. Peter silently curses himself, wishing that he had brought a flashlight with him.

The woods are thick and dense, something which he hadn't been expecting when he first stepped in. Peter has no idea which way is left or right, or if he'll find a way out. Hell, he doesn't think he could turn back to the mansion even if he wanted to. 

Despite that, he continues to run, because that was all he could do at this moment. It wasn't like the woods could stretch on forever. After all, if Tony had taken him from Queens and into the mansion, there had to be an exit...right? 

Peter could only hope so, the fading of sunlight had also meant the fading of heat. He'd been sprinting non-stop for the past few minutes? Hours? Peter had lost track, but the night air; so chilled that it hurt to breathe, was wicking his heat away faster than his body could replace it. 

He doesn't have much time before his body gives in, the only thing he could do is to keep moving, keep heading towards the end of the woods until he runs into normal civilisation. There, he'll be finally out from Tony; that lunatic's reach. And then, he'll find his way to the police station, where they would question him. They'd eventually find out about Tony Stark, and hopefully, he'll be sent back to home, safe at last.

_ Home. _

Then it dawns on him; Peter doesn't have an actual home to go back to. The old apartment in Queens had been sold the following day he was taken in by the state, mere days after May's funeral. A different family had moved in a while back, so even in his mind, Peter had stopped referring to it as home. 

Home was long gone.

He wouldn't necessarily call the group home his home either. But then again, that place was where he'd been staying for the past 6 months before he was taken, so Peter guesses the group home is where he'll be going back to after all of this madness.

One moment Peter is rushing forward, eyes on the track ahead, face tear stricken with desperation. 

The next moment, he's_ falling _. Peter opens his eyes in shock, the world rushing by in a blur when he realises that something must have caught his foot. "Ah-ah!" a small gasp escapes his lips, arms flailing as his body violently lunges forward. His left foot should have extended to take his weight, to touch the ground, but he fails. 

Peter closes his eyes shut, knowing that the pain is coming. Time goes by fast, yet slow, almost suspended. 

He falls. 

Crunching dead leaves, snapping twigs, creaking branches and a loud thud. There's a mixture of sound as Peter lands hard on the ground, sending a plume of leaves up into the air, the impact of the fall knocking all of the breath out of him. He finds himself gasping, stunned from the force of it. 

"Come on, Peter....come –" slowly, he'd been about to get up, but Peter quickly falters midway, landing on his knees instead when a sharp pain lanced through his feet. 

Clearly, venturing into the woods, barefooted was a half-witted idea, his feet were stinging raw from running over the twigs and rocks that covered the ground, although he couldn't tell if it was bleeding from the darkness. In some ways, Peter was grateful because if he knew the exact state of his feet, he'd be too horrified to move on.

He's tired, hungry, cold and in pain. Peter scoffs at the irony, thinking about the soft clothes, warm baths, a full belly and the heated rooms back at the mansion. Those felt like unimaginable luxuries, and his mind drifts further, wondering what he'd be doing right now if he hadn't decided to leave tonight. 

Peter was truly alone in this, the only plus point being that if Tony had found out about his escape and was currently searching for him, he hasn't found him yet. Which meant that the man couldn't see him, or hear him anywhere. Peter decides to take advantage of the situation and buries his face into the throw blanket, sobbing especially loud.

It wasn't fair, all he ever wanted was freedom, to be safe and warm, away from the humiliation he'd been forced to endure for the past few weeks. But now, that seemed like it was too much to ask for. 

Somewhere in the distance, an owl sounded, snapping him out from his thoughts. Ragged edged of exhaustion, Peter flops over to the ground and lies down, taking in the night sky with tear-filled eyes. The littering of stars that loomed above was more than Peter had ever been able to see in Queens before, easing his senses to dial down a notch. 

Perhaps it's like a promise to the teen that in even the darkest times, there's always a glint of hope. As long as the moon is shining and the stars gleam above him, he's never in complete darkness, never alone.

He breaths, slow and steady, until they stop coming in as ragged as before. Sluggishly, Peter pushes himself up, getting his legs under him again. This time, there's no fear, no adrenaline rush as he gradually moves forward, despite having no idea where that's going to lead himself to. 

Peter continues to walk through the woods. He's limping heavily for the most part, like his limbs no longer belonged to him, each step feeling like a negotiation rather than an order. 

He's tired, so, _ so _ tired that he's not sure if he could keep going on until dawn. It was obvious that after spending so much time in the man's captivity, with his days only consisting of nap times, playtime and meals, Peter's stamina must have halved and it shows, exhaustion muddling his better judgement.

So perhaps, that is why Peter feared that he was beginning to hallucinate when he sees a trail of warm, orange glow in the far distance. 

Peter frowns, squinting his eyes to have a better look at it. Are they...stars? 

No....they aren't, because the stars were right above his head, and Peter wasn't looking up

Which could only mean one thing: 

_ Lights _, they were streetlights! 

Not wasting a second, Peter sprints, forgetting how much his feet were hurting. He urges his wobbly legs to move forward, and soon enough, he slips out from the branches and makes it to the road – out of the woods at last.

The streetlamps were fully lit, throwing garish pools of orange onto the dry asphalt. It's still cold out here, and his predicament hasn't changed one bit, still tattered and torn from the fall, still hungry, empty-handed and alone.

And yet, Peter feels relieved, so much that his legs eventually give out and he sinks to his knees, like a puppet with its strings cut. The teen knew that this wasn't over, and he had to get going until he had at least found the Police. 

But he couldn't find an ounce of strength left in him to do that. Peter felt so burned out; he was borderline debilitated.

In fact, Peter's senses are completely dulled that he doesn't register the approaching footsteps, only noticing them when a beam of white light flashes across his face, blinding him for a split second.

"Kid? Are you alright?!" the worried voice calls out.

Peter panics for a moment, convinced that Tony had come to drag him back. "S-Stop, please! Don't hurt me!"

"Hey, hey, calm down!" the voice spoke again, and this time, Peter lowers the hands he'd been using to shield his face and looks towards the source of the voice.

It wasn't Tony.

There, stood a large, blond male, a clear head higher than Tony. It was hard to judge the man's age in the dimly lit street, but he was certainly over twenty and considerably under forty. He's wearing shorts with a pair of thick leggings underneath, and a compression shirt like the man was in the middle of a night jogging session. 

"You okay, kid?" he asks again, "Can you stand up?" his tone was hardly an intimidating one, perhaps even laced with concern. However, that goes unnoticed the second Peter spots the bulk of muscles beneath the shirt; a size too small. It didn't help either when the man was practically towering over his small frame, reminiscent of the large shelves back at the playroom.

Peter cowers back 

"I-I…"

Steve notices the fear register on Peter's face before he could even hide it, he flips off the switch of the flashlight, pocketing into the left side of his shorts. "It's alright if you can't. Here, let me help you," 

Steve kneels down to the wary teen's eye level like he’s approaching a wounded animal and offers out a hand for Peter to take. Hesitantly, he does so, wrapping his fingers around the larger hand. The man tightens his grip and stands up, pulling Peter up along with him.

"I'm Steve, how about you?" he starts, while taking in Peter's dishevelled appearance, a frown pulling his brows further with each passing second. The teen notices this and shrinks back a little, embarrassed with how utterly wrecked he looked. With leaves, twigs and other gunks from the woods stuck in his unruly curls, face covered with dirt and tear tracks, Peter must have been a sight.

"P-Peter, Peter Parker." 

"Peter," Steve repeats with a nod. "So, Peter, care to explain why are you in the middle of the streets at –" he pauses, taking a quick glance at the watch on his wrist. "10:30 in the night?"

"I, uh well...have been walking around for a while now, and…" Peter trails off, unsure of what else to say. 

"You got lost?" Steve asks, genuine confusion plastered on his face.

"Yeah." 

"And I'm going to guess that you don't live around here, yes?" 

Peter gives a sheepish nod. 

"Figures." the man hums in agreement, "You know, kid, I thought you were a teenage runaway for a moment, but you seem a little....underprepared for that." he waves a hand, gesturing towards the teen. "So what's got you so worn out? Are you in trouble?"

"No!" Peter interjects, too loud. "I-I, no. I mean, I'm fine. I'll be on my way if you could just give me the directions to the nearest police station – _ ah! _ " he tries to take a step away, but his injured feet throbs excruciatingly when he puts his weight on it.

Peter stumbles with a hiss of pain, almost falling forward on the ground. But Steve reaches out on reflex, grabbing him by the shoulders before giving a surprised, “Woah, hey, that was close!”

Now embarrassed, Peter drifts his gaze along the streets and back to the man, letting out a puff of pent up breath he never knew he had. Really, it sounded amazing to get the help he so desperately needed, to spill out the fact that there was a kidnapper lurking around and the horrors he'd faced with said person for the past few weeks. But of course, Peter couldn't tell Steve any of that. Not if he doesn't want to be seen as a fibber.

And it wasn't like he could blame the man either. Peter couldn't simply drop the name of a certain genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist, expecting Steve to believe that said man had kidnapped and forced him into diapers and cribs, without so much as a second thought. 

"Peter, it's okay. I'm not going to dig into the matter further alright? I just want to know if you're currently facing some sort of danger."

_ Tell him, just tell him! _

"I'm fine." 

He's no longer looking at Steve, eyes trained on the ground as he rubs his fingers nervously on the muddied blanket. 

Steve doesn't look too convinced, but nods eventually, "Well, I'm glad to hear that, mind if I put my two cents in?"

Peter's ears perk up, "Yeah?"

"Tomorrow morning, I'll promise to drop you off at the Police. But for tonight, I suggest - no, I insist you spend a night at my place." 

"...What?" 

"Come over to my place," Steve states again, a matter of factly. "I could get you patched up, and I've got a spare guest room too, for you to stay for the night."

Peter's head jerked up, jaws dropping. Was he...being serious? Peter wonders. He couldn't believe how naive this man was. Had he not considered the implications of picking up strangers on the street and having them to stay over? Granted, Peter was a teenager; practically a child in the man's eye, but that didn't rule out the chances of him being a potential sneak thief. 

"...That- that's so generous, sir, really. And I ah- I'm super grateful for the offer but, I think I'm fine on my own, I'll just...catch a bus or something."

"I hate to break it to you, kid. But there's no busses around here."

"Oh...uh…" he's at a loss of words now, and his mind churns out an endless stream of thoughts to come out with a smart response. 

It doesn't work understandably, and Steve adds on, "Please, it's the least I can do."

But Peter knows it's a losing battle on his end now, and so, the question comes out before he could stop himself, "Why?" he asks, "Aren't you afraid that I might ...you know - do something?"

Steve looks baffled to the say the least, like he hadn't been expecting Peter to come up with such a question. His eyes widen, so much that it was almost comical and covers his mouth to stifle a heartfelt snicker. 

"_ Something _, huh," Steve says, amusement colouring his tone.

Peter gives the man a look, eyebrows furrowed like he’s confused, even offended. "Uh - did I say something?" 

"No, no, you're absolutely right," Steve raises his hands in surrender, a laugh still huffing out of him, "You got me right there; I shouldn't be turning my place into a share house, huh?"

"I'm being serious!" 

"I'm serious too, bud," Steve's face straightens up, dropping his tone a little. "Look, I know it's not the smartest idea to invite random strangers into my house, but I have a kid myself, and well - now that I've met you, I can't possibly go to sleep knowing that you're left alone in the streets; injured and unattended. It's too dangerous."

Peter falters at that. Steve was right; it was too risky to stay out in the open, empty-handed and unarmed. He needed more than a throw blanket to fend himself from a kidnapper.

"I don't know anything about you, besides the fact that you're Peter Parker. So really, I'm just letting my conscience guide me to...whatever that I think is right." Steve says, "The bottom line is; I trust you kid. At least enough for me to know that you wouldn't rob me in the middle of the night."

Unsure of how to respond, Peter simply nods, finding himself to be a little embarrassed and even guilty, seeing how good-willed the man was. Somehow Steve had made everything sound so...honest and genuine. It was impossible to turn down the offer.

"So, what do we say, Peter?"

The teen stood statue-still for a moment, then two, then three, and finally, he squeaks out a small, "Thank you." and just like that, the tension that had kept him on for the past few hours melts into nothingness, "That – ah, would be really nice…"

"Finally," Steve lets out a huff of air, "Alright, now that we are both on the same page," – he walks forward to close the gap between them and places a reassuring hand on the teen's back – "Can I pick you up?"

"H-huh?" 

"Your feet," Steve says, "It's pretty beaten up, and you've got no shoes on. I'll bandage it up when we get home, but for now, let's try not to aggravate the injury, yeah?"

After spending weeks with Tony, Peter had learnt to loathe the concept of being carried around. In a subconscious gesture of aversion, his nose wrinkled, shifting away from Steve's hand. 

Though he had to admit, it was more of a necessity right now, when his legs were covered in welts and bruises. And with every muscle in his body seized up, he knew he'd be walking around like a scarecrow, gait all wrong, Steve wouldn't let him walk more than a mile.

Peter knew it was impossible to convince Steve otherwise, he doesn't know this man for long, and although Steve was no doubt a benignant type, he also seemed headstrong, the kind who would remain stubborn as a mule when the time calls for it. This was definitely one of those times.

"I…don’t really have a choice, right?," Peter tucks his hand into his under arms, as he always seemed to do when he was uncomfortable, "But uh, maybe not by the hips?"

"Hips?" 

"You know, the one where you carry someone on the hips? Yeah...could we skip that?"

Peter steals a quick glance towards the man, regretting when he sees how Steve quirks an eyebrow at his rather odd request. Of course, he wasn't going to carry you like a toddler! This was Steve, a total stranger but not a lunatic like Tony._ Idiot. _

He'd been so used to being picked up like that; it was almost second nature for the teen to assume that the man would do the same.

"Oh, alright, of course." Steve offers Peter a tentative smile. "I wouldn't have done that, kid, no worries." 

"Right, yeah, sorry. I - I don't know why I said that."

He'd been expecting a response from Steve, but a quick clap on the shoulders and an, "Okay, enough with the talking, we should really get going." is all Peter gets before the man drops his knees down to the ground, both arms stretched backwards. "Lean against me, arms around my neck," he instructs. 

Peter does as he's told. Though still hesitant, he presses his chest against the man's back, resting his weight on it.

"First time getting a piggyback?" Steve asks, locking both hands around the back of Peter's knee and lifting him into the air. He puts a little hop in his steps to reposition the teen as he walks along the streets, comfortably resting Peter's legs under his arm. 

Peter sucks in a breath by the sudden jolt and hastily tightens his arms around Steve, but not enough to choke him. He doesn't think he could try even if he tried to. "First time in 7 years, my aunt and uncle, they used to give a ride all the time but -" he then adds somewhat sheepishly, "It...kinda stopped." 

"Oh? Why's that so?" 

"...Maybe I got too heavy for their 40-year-old back to handle? Puberty and all that." Peter half-lies, feeling a twinge of wistfulness as he does so. There was a hollow ache in his chest, stubbornly making itself known every time he thought about his surrogate parents. He wonders if they'd still be able to give him a piggyback at 15. 

But now, there was no way to find out. 

Thankfully, Steve doesn't push on the subject further, only giving a quick nod as an acknowledgement, which left Peter alone in his thoughts and the sound of footsteps. The teen eventually lays his head on the man's broad shoulders. Head lolled to one side as he idly counts the number of street lights.

It wasn't until when they passed the twenty-fifth streetlight later, did Peter began to notice how...empty the streets were. Steve had been walking for well over 15 minutes now, but the time wasn't exactly late. He'd been expecting to see a passer-by or two, even a few cars along the way, but there were none. There weren't any buildings or signboards either, only the black, pristine asphalt which seemed to stretch on endlessly. 

This place – wherever it was, seemed to remind him of an unfinished painting. 

"Hey, uh – sir?" Peter asks, turning his head back to the man. "Is there...anyone else that lives around here?"

Steve cranes his neck over his shoulders, "Not as far as I know, why do you ask?"

"It's just that – everything looks a little too well maintained for a deserted place like this. The roads, lights, all of them." there's a few seconds of silence, an uncomfortable one at that, but not long enough for Peter to notice the brief, subtle narrowing of the eyes that came along with it. 

"It's a relatively new area I heard; I just moved in a couple of months back with my kid actually." 

"That...does make sense. Guess I'm not really used to the quiet streets." even as he said that, there was a nagging feeling at the back of his mind in which he couldn't quite place his fingers on. He's forced to chase that thought away when Steve speaks up again shortly. 

"Quiet streets, huh. Let me guess, Peter; you're a city kid?" 

"Have been all my life," Peter says after a beat. He rests his head again, still tired but grateful for the man's presence. It dawns on him how utterly lucky he was, knowing that he'd be left stranded on the road like a mouse in a trap, waiting for Tony to get him if he hadn't chanced upon Steve, who so happened to be the only one that lived in the area. 

"Where'd you come from?"

"New York, Queens."

"Queens, I see," Steve replies with a smirk, raising a finger. "You have one chance, take a wild guess for mine." 

Peter looks at the man's face searchingly, as though he could find an answer on it, "Um, Manhattan?"

Steve grinned, "Nope! But you've got the New York part correct, so that's half a point for you."

Peter's lip twitched upward ever so slightly. "Half a point?" he huffs, "That's not too bad for a guess."

"_ Only _ half a point," the man counters, "I'm from Brooklyn kid. We're basically neighbours from the start."

_ From the start. _

In hindsight, the tag end of the phrase should have raised some suspicions in the teen, but it never did; Peter was too caught up on the house that loomed proudly in the far distance of the streets. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked this chapter! Sorry if it's a little slow-paced but we'll get to the punishment part eventually!(Chap 11) 
> 
> Check out my [ Tumblr ](https://kinakomanjyu.tumblr.com/) for asks, chapter progress and prompts!


	10. The signature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello people! It's been a while since I've posted but rest assured, I'm still alive, just a lot busier than I expected to be. I'm not done with the next chapter yet and I have a few more quizzes and assignments to clear up until mid September, so I don't really know when the next update would be but hopefully, it's soon. Anyways, someone requested a quick recap of the previous chapter so I'll drop it down here. 
> 
> \- Peter escapes from the mansion and runs into the woods, gets injured in the process.  
\- He eventually ends up in the streets and bumps into Steve.  
\- Steve offers a night at his home, Peter declines but caves in eventually.  
\- Peter notices that something is off with the area but quickly brushes it off when the duo ends up in a casual conversation.

"You're like...good at this." 

Peter couldn't help but inwardly gawk at the man's thick forearms, staring with intent as Steve's fingers moved deftly, wrapping the layers of bandages around his injured soles and heels. How does one bulk up like that? The teen looked like a twig and weighed like a twig in comparison, and he doesn't want to imagine how screwed he'd be if Tony or any of his confederates had such a build. 

Peter shudders at the thought. 

"I used to be from the military, and remember how I told you I'm a dad?" Steve asks, not waiting for the teen to respond as he unwinds the roll of cohesive tape, ripping it off and securing it on the layer of bandages. "Scraped knees, gunshot wounds – Injuries are just one of the day to day things you'd have to deal with when you're in those fields. Same thing, just different levels."

Military and a dad. Peter lets out a low hum, suddenly unsurprised with Steve's less than average built and the colourful dinosaur patterned tape.

Come to think of it, it all made sense. Peter pulls his gaze away from his bandaged foot and to the dining room, much smaller and homey compared to the ones back at Tony's. Character stickers littered across the table, some intact, some scrapped up like someone had made a desperate but futile attempt to remove them. The hand turkey put up proudly on the fridge, action figures on the island – those were all minor yet apparent signs of a kid.

A slight squeeze on his toes snaps Peter out of his thoughts, "Alright, I think we're good to go now. Though, I wouldn't suggest you move around too much, at least for tonight."

"...Thanks," Peter responds a beat later, still somewhat distracted as he takes in his surroundings. 

It’s twelve and he’s still up, the latest he’d stayed awake since the kidnapping. His brain is on five percent battery now, exhaustion creeping up with each passing second ever since Peter had stepped out from the shower. The air still carried the scent of rubbing alcohol, combined with the faint smell of shampoo and Peter lets out a long breath, going limp against the backrest of the chair like the wet towel hanging at the back of his neck.

He closes his eyes. 

Peter had sidetracked from his initial plans to find the police, and this definitely wasn't the place he'd been expecting to end up in. But he doesn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he'd take this too. 

"Tired?" 

Peter opens his eyes at that and shifts to look down at Steve, "A little," he mutters, rubbing his eyes fiercely.

"A little?" slightly humoured by the teen's less than subtle demeanour, Steve shakes his head as he puts away the spare rolls of bandages into the first aid kit. "You sure don't seem like it."

"S' been a long day." 

"I can see that," Steve lets out a short laugh, "Well, the guest room's ready, so you're more than welcomed to head up right now. Sorry it’s not the Ritz, but you should be able to snag a few hours of sleep before tomorrow. Unless” – the man stands up with a grunt from where he’s crouching down – “ You're up for a quick meal before that?" 

Peter perks up at the mention of food, registering the gnawing hunger as he does so. As if on cue, his stomach growls and the teen squirms in his seat to silence the rumbling, only for it to growl for the second time, earning him a knowing look from Steve.

"And I'll take that as a yes." 

"I-uh, yeah...sorry. Missed lunch and dinner today." Peter looks away from where the man stood, cheeks turning bright red. He thinks this was embarrassing, but then again, he'd done a lot of humiliating stuff in the past few weeks with Tony, and this hardly ranks at all.

Steve frowns, "That can't be good, aren't you still like… in the growing stage? I don't know much about teenagers nowadays." he says, not expecting an answer but pleased to find that Peter was actively trying to come out with a response. He quickly adds on, not wanting to torment the poor kid. "I hope you're fine with lasagna? It's all I've got actually." 

"That's more than enough, thank you," Peter replies, watching Steve stride out of the dining room and to the kitchen as he pulls up the slightly oversized shirt, hanging off from his shoulders. 

When Steve had handed him the set of spare pyjamas, it hadn't even occurred to him that it seemed a few sizes too small for a large man like Steve. But now though, he's a little puzzled by that. Maybe it belonged to someone else in this house? 

But who?

Peter doesn't get to ponder on that much longer, because when Steve does come back from the kitchen with a tray of food in hand, his idle thoughts go straight out of the window.

The steaming lasagna was inviting enough on its own, but what had caught his attention was the glass of plain water and the set of metal cutlery. Ever since he'd stepped into the man's house, Peter had done and seen a whole lot of things he hadn't been able – no scratch that – _ allowed to _ for the past few weeks. From the fact that he'd just bathed on his own earlier, used the toilet like a normal functioning adult, everything seemed so...new, foreign almost, like he’s forgotten how abnormal his life was. 

Now, Peter finds himself to be mildly thrown off as he balances the spoon between his thumb and index fingers. It has a decent weight to it, thin and cool to the touch; unlike the plastic handled kiddy utensils Tony had insisted him on using. 

Things like these should no longer surprise him, and yet, Peter still found himself to be bewildered.

"...Peter?" Steve leans forward, arms crossed against the table, asking with a hint of worry when he catches the teen's faraway look. "Sorry, I know the ratio's a little off. My kid, uh, went a little overboard with the cheese," he says as he gestures to the plate which looked more like a cheesy, bubbly mess at the top. 

"I swear, I told him that all we needed was half a cup." Steve holds out his hands in surrender like he's annoyed, but how annoyed could he be? The man was smiling wide, adoration lacing his voice as soon as his kid was brought up into the topic. 

"No, no that's alright. I'm cool with cheese," Peter pulls the plate closer, hastily taking a bite to prove his point. As soon as his teeth sink into the layers of the meat sauce, bechamel sauce and cheese, a wide-eyed expression crosses his features, "This is....good, did he make all of these?" 

"Just the assembly job. You know, the fun part. He ran off as soon as I started to clean up the dishes, typical 7-year-olds".

"Dishes are boring," Peter laughs as he washes the food down with a large gulp of water, "Tell him I liked it though." 

"You'll meet him soon; he'd love to hear you saying that in person." he says, only giving the teen the briefest glance before he reaches out to give a soft pat on Peter's back "Well, alright. I'll go check the dryer if your clothes and blanket are ready, can I help you with anything else?"

Peter shakes his head, taking another bite, "I'm good, thanks," he replies, voice muffled behind the food in his mouth. One second, he's waiting for the man to disappear around the corner of the kitchen, the next he's shovelling the Lasagna down with the spoon. 

He's halfway through his late dinner when there's a sudden small twinge in his stomach, forcing the teen to halt his momentum. Peter sets the plate down on the table, staring blankly at the spoon still held in his hand. He's been doing that for the second time of the day. It's weird, and he should stop, but he can't pretend the feel and weight on his hand isn't overwhelming.

Strangely enough, it hadn't occurred to him how....right the situation was. He knew it, obviously, but he never felt it quite so well. Until now, that is.

He's currently seated on a regular chair, eating a full-sized dinner, not chopped up into little pieces like he'd choke on them otherwise. He isn't wearing a bib either, and there certainly wasn't a psychotic adult who refused to leave him unattended – Peter was trusted to be alone, because goddammit, he was a fucking teenager. 

And wasn't that a shocker?

Peter blows out a breath. He's in that space now, where he's allowed to be who he was, where he isn't forced to behave like a 2-year-old. 

Everything was over.

From the second he had stepped into Steve's house, Peter was finally safe from Tony's reach, marking the end of what seemed to be the most humiliating chapter in his life. It’s a mere few hours before the long arm of the law catches up with the man. Tomorrow, Steve would take him to the police where he'll finally get his justice, stripping off the man's billionaire status to nothing but an inmate in state prison. Just like how he had reduced him to a toddler.

Not anymore, Peter was free, at last. 

There were uncertainties that came along with that though. Peter didn't want to know how long his friends had been missing him, or his foster parents. He doesn't know how long he'll take to go back into routine; to put this whole madness behind him. Maybe it'll never happen, maybe he'll never be able to forget the bottles, bedtime stories and the soft bed that he used to sleep in each night. 

Maybe... he'll never be able to take his mind off from Tony, in so many ways that he'd be hard-pressed to find out. 

What he did know, however, was that he'll need major therapy after this.

"Peter?" 

The sudden voice puts an emergency brake on his racing thoughts, bringing them to a standstill and making the voices in his head go quiet for once. "H-Huh?"

"...Is...everything alright?" 

The tiny gnawing had turned into a solid mass, one that was currently forming a big lump in Peter's throat. His vision begins to swim in front of him as he registers the burn in his eyes. It seems that all of his senses were dulled now; the world turned into a blur, so did the smell of the overbearing cheese.

He blinks and blinks, but the blurred vision doesn't go away, instead with each flicker of his eyes, something warm trickles down his cheeks one after another. 

Oh, he knew this feeling, this was...he was...

"– You're crying."

"Holy–" Peter gasps, dropping the spoon onto the plate in surprise. "Oh, my g...s-since when were you back?" with a sniff, he hastily wipes his face with his sleeve and glances over to where Steve stood.

"About a minute ago – but that's not the point here." Steve's face softens all of a sudden, no doubt confused with his sudden outburst. He looks like he's about to say something, but the first sob that rattles from Peter's chest makes Steve rush over to the dining table, pulling up a chair to sit beside the teen.

"Hey, hey, what happened?" he inches closer to the whimpering, weeping figure, "Controlling parents? Girl problems?" Steve asks, but Peter could only shake his head with each question.

Peter huffs in frustration, wiping off the traitorous tears with shaky shoulders and gritted teeth. But nothing helps, not even when Steve drapes the throw blanket over his shoulders for comfort.

Now that the waterworks have started, it suddenly seemed almost impossible for the teen to keep all of that pent up emotion inside. "I-I'm sorry! I...I don't know what's gotten into me. I, ah –"

He's cut off when Steve wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer to his side. "Kid, it's fine, don't force yourself to talk. Just let it out, alright?" 

And the teen did exactly just that. While words of reassurances were nice, the tactile side of him desperately craved for physical comfort. Peter hiccups, and lays against the man's sturdy chest, eyes screwed shut. He had always been self-conscious when he cried. But now, Peter just gave away to the enormity of his conflicted thoughts. 

"That's right...focus on calming down. You can talk to me when you're feeling better – only if you want, of course. No pressure." 

Peter had done a lot of crying, ever since he was snatched up from that alley in Queens. It was either a quick relief from the humiliation, the kind that he could blink away the tears even before Tony could notice them. Or a painstakingly long process of anger, fear and frustration whenever the man had pushed him to the edge. Either way, in the end, both had left him empty and exhausted. 

This time though, it was different. 

Blotchy and red from the rubbing, his face looked like pure crap, he was sure. And yet, Peter was, for a lack of a better word,_ relieved _. 

He'd been sobbing for close to 10 minutes, and it took a hell lot of back rubs and reassurances for the tears to draw to a stop, but they eventually get to a point where he's no longer a blubbering mess, and Steve takes that as a cue to break the silence. 

"...Okay, kid?" Steves tries to keep his voice low, practically a whisper, "I know I shouldn't be asking you this, especially when I promised that I wouldn’t press for an explanation but....has this got to do with why you were out there in the streets?"

Peter's stomach twinged painfully again, and he threw all caution to the wind. What more did he have to lose? Steve – this man; a stranger was comforting him in the middle of the night as he cried; any dignity he'd been hoping to preserve was long gone by now. His mind drifts to the mansion and to Tony, and he could feel his bottom lips trembling all over again. 

The throw blanket is fuzzy, with a hint of warmth left from the dryer and Peter scrunches the soft fabric with his fingers in an attempt to ground himself. He pulls the corner of it over to his nose and breathes in the scent, which no longer smelt like the sweet mix of baby powder and milk, but the crisp scent of the detergent. 

Peter frowns, and settles to smooth out the material with the pad of his fingers instead.

"It's – it's the woods."

"The woods?" Steve's eyes are fixed on the teen now, lips pressed into a thin line, "What about it?"

Peter bites down hard on the insides of his cheek, "There - There's someone...a man. H-he uh, lives out there - In this huge mansion," he says, as though every syllable pains him. 

"His name is Tony S–," Peter falters when he gets to the tag end. 

_ Shit, _ this was why he'd been reluctant to admit in the first place! It was upsetting, and unfair to think that he had to downplay everything just so that his story would sound at least half believable when it was nothing but the truth. 

"Tony who?" 

"Uh - just Tony. I don't know his full name." Peter feels an encouraging squeeze on his shoulders, and with one shaky breath in, he continues. "I was....taken, on my way home from school. And, ah - he's been holding me in his house for three weeks, maybe even longer. Tony; the man, he was…" he trails off, hesitating his next line. Tony hadn't exactly_ hurt _ him per se, but Peter doesn't know how to explain it. 

The odds of being raped or tortured are much higher than whatever that has happened to him. People don't just get forced into diapers and treated like a child. How does one even put that into words? 

"He had this crazy security system and I couldn't leave, until today."

Steve's face is shockingly neutral throughout his monologue. Apart from the occasional twitch in the brow, he seemed almost unfazed; nonchalant even. Peter had no idea how one would react to such a confession, but this definitely wasn’t a typical knee jerk reaction. 

"So...you got kidnapped, and got out on your own?"

Peter nods, sniffling back more tears that had somehow slipped out from his eyes. "Y-yeah, like a few hours ago. I didn't know where to go, so I went straight for the woods and ended up in the streets. I wouldn't be surprised if he's looking for me right now." there's a pause, and Peter chokes, "I-I'm so, _ so _ sorry! I didn't mean to get you involved...I just – I really didn't know what to do and –"

"Peter, Peter, deep breaths, okay? It's no trouble, really. Whatever the reason, I just wanted you to have a roof over your head for tonight, we've talked about this, remember? So," – Steve runs his fingers through the damp mop of curls – "Don't be sorry, kid. What matters is that you're safe now." 

Steve would be lying if he said the kid's hysterical sobs wasn't breaking his heart. It was a primal sound, one any parent was programmed not to ignore; painfully reminiscent of how Bucky had used to weep each night in his room, "Thank you for telling me, that was very brave of you."

Peter pauses, blinking wet lashes at Steve who gives him a reassuring look. He shakes his head, "No, I–" he chokes, "I'm not. I was...frightened; scared of the dark. This is stupid; I'm fifteen, I shouldn't be." 

He bites his lips and looks down, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, "I'm a coward."

"Don't," Steve says firmly, "Stuck in the woods at night, in the middle of December? That's not an easy plight to be in, you're allowed to be afraid, Peter." 

"Come here," Steve wraps both pairs of arms around the teen, no longer a one-armed hug, but a full-on one. Strong arms hold him against the sturdy chest like a vice, firm and warm like he's laying on top of a heated mat. 

It's supposed to be comforting, but the feeling - it's too similar to Tony and Peter goes still, as stiff as a board, unsure of what to do with his hands or body. And just like every other time he's hugged by the man, his fingers begin to tremble, like it's longing; dying to reciprocate the gesture. The only thing that stops him from giving in each time, is his conscience and pride.

But then it hits him: Steve isn't Tony. 

Peter couldn't help it – he hugs Steve back, clutching onto his shirt, relief and warmth washing over him in an instant. "This is...nice," he says, closing his eyes and soaking up the physical contact, lapping up whatever affection the man had to offer, "You're really a dad." 

As soon as those words leave his mouth, Peter swallows nervously and pushes himself away slightly. "S-sorry, that was weird." 

Steve huffs out a laugh and pulls him closer, "No, that's alright. Do you feel better though?" there's no verbal response, but he feels a slight nod against his neck "Good, good. I was starting to get worried if you didn't. Especially when popsicle bribery isn't a thing past your age."

"M' never too old for popsicles," Peter murmurs, lips pulling into a slight smile as he lets his body sag, muscle loose against the man. It's warm and Peter never wants to let go, and he thinks that's because Steve gives him the respect of an equal, but yet at the same time, cradling him like a cherished child.

Steve must have sensed his need for physical comfort. The hug lasts for a full minute, and he doesn't pull away until Peter's tears have completely tapered off. But when he does release the teen from his embrace, he claps his shoulders and says, "Well, it isn't exactly popsicle season right now, so how about I get you a hot drink?"

"Thanks... that'll be really nice," Peter says as he rests his head on the table, light-headed and throat dry from the crying. He could use a drink right now.

Steve motions in the direction of the living room. "Go over to the couch if you want, I'll be back in five minutes."

Peter’s walk to the living room is wobbly, his tender feet and thick layers of bandage rendering his gait awkward. The first thing he notices is the sheer number of framed drawings that lined the walls. Half of them were..._ apt _ if Peter puts it in a nice way. Judging by the squiggly crayon lines and the explosion of colours like a rainbow had thrown up on the paper, it was obvious that Steve's kid had drawn it.

The other half though; it's like the world was flattened into a single canvas, every detail captured by the intricate lines. Light, curves, and shadows, were accompanied by the way the colours were blended into each other. It was picture perfect in all aspects, but with a closer look, Peter notices the personal touches in them, one that makes every piece of Steve's art, Steve.

_ April 20th 2XXX. Early spring harvest at Blairsfield, strawberry picking with the little guy. _

_ – Steve. R _

_ November 4th 2XXX. Post moving, painted a mural in the garage for a flash of colour. _

_ – Steve. R _

_ January 11th 2XXX. Went back to Blairsfield for his physiotherapy, post-appointment ice cream treat. _

_ – Steve. R _

On each piece was the date, a short note, and Steve's signature written in the bottom left corner with blue ink. It's endearing and personal, almost as if he's getting a glimpse into the man's life through his art. And he's sure he's never seen anything like it. 

So why were they oddly familiar?

Peter shakes his head and sinks into the plush couch. From the neighbourhood to the shirt to the drawings, his thoughts were going all over the place today, rambling aimlessly, always focusing on the wrong things and he hates it. 

"What are you looking at?" Steve lays down the mugs with a click onto the coffee table and glances over to the teen.

Peter jolts a little and looks away from the wall as he replies, "Uh, just those," he says, nodding over to the frames. "The drawings – do you add a note to all of them?"

"Sure do," Steve hums, handing the smaller mug to Peter, "A little habit of mine since I was a fine arts student."

The heat from the mug settles into his hands, and Peter watches the small curls of steam rise into the wintry air, "I like them," he says before bringing the rim of the cup to his lips to take a tentative sip. His tongue slips out of his mouth to lick off the melted marshmallows on his upper lip. It's sweet and warm, but nothing like the formula he'd been drinking each night.

A fleeting expression on Steve's expression showed penitence, but it was quickly wiped away and replaced with a smile even before the teen could catch it. 

They spend the next ten minutes or so in silence, and Peter was ready for some more questions, but the warmth of the drink must have begun to lull him, putting him at the edge of sleep. 

Peter closes his eyes. He could feel someone; probably Steve, taking the mug away from his hands. He drifts into consciousness, and back out. A tap on the shoulder momentarily brings him back into the outside world, but after a second, Peter was once again lost. 

His strength was fading fast as the minutes ticked by and Peter slumps forward, feeling Steve's hands on his shoulders gently easing him back to the couch, throwing his legs up onto the seat. He's laying down now, and Peter whines, knowing that sooner or later, he would have to wake up.

"... S'ry," he says, but all that comes out are slurred words. He chances a glance over to Steve, hoping that man had caught on that. 

But Steve doesn't respond; instead, he tugs the blanket up to his chin. Oddly enough, the man gives him an apologetic look as he does so. 

Weird.

Despite his confusion, Peter's thoughts in his head melt away like butter, and he can barely focus on anything now, let alone Steve. The warmth from the blanket served as the final push for his eyelids to fall shut, and it wasn't long before the world around him turns into static. 

And just like that, Peter is gone – well into unconsciousness. 

****

Midtown was...Pretty much the same as he last remembered it. The halls were crowded with people, and the chaos was so perfect; familiar like nothing had changed in the past three weeks. The same couples were making out at the left side of the hall, and a little further down, the cliquey girls and jocks. Opposite were the marching bands with their bulky instrument cases and in-between the two sides of the hall, was Peter himself, and Ned. 

_ – It has been two weeks since the missing 15-year-old teen was found thanks to a kind samaritan. 43-year-old Tony Stark, former CEO of Stark Industries is now in police custody, charged with kidnapping of a minor. The motives are still unknown, however – _

He’d been trying to shake off the incident from his head for a while now, but if the daily reports on Tony Stark’s arrest, which had somehow made its way into his school news was any indication, Midtown clearly wasn’t ready to move on from the topic. 

Peter looked away from the hallway TV, lowered his head and began to walk faster, pretending that he couldn't hear Betty and Jason's voices behind him. 

"You know, it's still crazy," Ned inched closer, voice barely above a whisper, "With what happened with you and...Tony Stark."

"Yeah... it's been uh, _ rough _, I guess." 

"Bro, you had me so worried. I should've insisted on the car ride that day. I'm so sorry, I know it doesn't change what happened, and – I know about the therapist and all. But I'm just sorry, Peter."

"God, Ned, will you stop saying that? It's not on you, okay?" Peter promised, "Yeah, therapy is boring but...Dr Reys, she's nice. So really, everything's cool – I mean, I'll take a while to adjust but what matters is that I'm back here in Queens, with you."

And it was true. 

Back at the hospital, it was pandemonium. His foster parents were teary-eyed the second they stepped into the ward, scooping him to a massive bear hug as they sobbed, muttering apologies over and over again. Ned on the other hand, well...had been so caught up in his emotions that Peter could hardly comprehend what he'd been blubbering that day as he ugly cried in front of all the nurses and patients. Even Michelle, who gave his shoulder a nudge, saying something along the lines of, "Practice is on Tuesday, don't be late or I'll let Flash take your place," had a lone tear rolling down her cheeks. 

She even hugged Peter, which was kind of a huge deal, if you'd ask him. 

But that was a week ago, and now, Peter was confident enough to say that he had somewhat returned to normalcy. 

"Peter?" 

"Hm?" 

"Do you want to come over to my place after practice? The Death Star – it's still half-built," Ned said somewhat sheepishly, "I didn't have the heart to finish it myself after you...disappeared like that. But now it's cool, right? You're back, so we –"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Carry on from where we left off," Peter said with a scoff. "I'll even drop by at Delmar's if you want me…" he trailed off when a sudden silence hit him. 

It's like his ears were suddenly clogged from a bad cold. The sounds of multiple conversations going at once, lockers opening and closing, music playing without headphones; they were all gone, replaced with nothing but deafening silence.

The teen looks around with a jolt, but there's no trace of the earlier crowd – Just Ned, standing at the middle of the hallway.

"Peter?" Ned said in the distance. 

"Y-yeah?" Peter gulped back fear. "What's going on?"

"Be careful."

***

Peter wakes like he's hooked up on the mains. No sleepiness, no warming up. _ Nothing _. 

The first thing he felt was warmth, and then a heaviness on top of him. But instead of a fallen tree or a boulder crashing down, it felt like soft blankets enveloping him. Warm air rushed around him, as if he's bathing in a hot shower, enough to feel heat ebbing into his skin, yet comfortable.

All in all, he felt warm.

And soon, confused.

This... wasn't Midtown High or the woods, not even Steve's home. No, this was anything but– 

Peter flickers his gaze over to the bars. 

Bars. 

Panic starts to settle in his guts the more he looks around. The greyish-blue walls, felt ball garlands, changing table – everything was horrifyingly identical, but what took the cake was the restraints, light and thin like a satin ribbon but with a tensile strength of a steel cable, tightly bound around both wrists.

His breaths become erratic, deep, then shallow. Despite the ambient temperature, the tips of his fingers are icy cold, and a new surge of adrenaline hits him. 'Scared' or 'frightened' wasn't going to cut it anymore, _ no _ – not when his worst fear, the one person he risked his every chance to escape from, was sitting on the love seat, cross-legged with so much magistrality like it was his fucking throne.

_ Tony. _

"No!" Peter says with a shaky breath in, "No, no, no–" 

His senses were now honed into Tony and nothing else, watching the man stride over to the crib with fearful eyes. He shrinks into the mattress, keeping very still like if he didn't move, the bad things that were coming wouldn't get him.

"Peter." Tony stopped his advance, only a few inches away, his dark brown eyes narrowed into darkened slits as he towers over the crib. He sets his hand on the side rail, fingers curling around the wooden bars until his knuckles turned white. Tony was _ pissed _, that much was clear. 

Peter jumped, paling at the look on the man's face, "I-I–" the teen could feel his lips move, but no sound was coming out. His limbs weigh down like lead, and a scared "P-Please…" was the only thing he could muster.

_ "Peter Benjamin Parker, what were you thinking?!" _

He whimpers, not because the man had pulled out the full name card, which hadn't been used on him since the last time he had an outburst over a diaper rash. Rather, it was the tone that left him terrified. It wasn't merely a raised voice; there was seething behind it. 

Tony had scolded him countless times, but he had never shouted at Peter like this, ever.

"I–" Peter tries again, but Tony raises a hand to cut him off, and he's thankful for that. Truth be told, he didn't know what to say if the man had allowed him to continue.

"No, you don't get to speak right now, _ not yet _ . The adult is talking." Tony says as he gives him an incredulous look laced with exhaustion, "Do you have any idea how worried I was? – No, never mind that – You _ know _ how important your safety is to me, but what did you do?" he runs a hand through his dishevelled hair, not allowing a second for the teen to interject. 

"You _ ran _ off, Peter, out in the woods in the middle of winter in nothing but pyjamas, no shoes, no socks, nada. And where did that lead you to?" Tony leans over, unceremoniously lifting off the thick blanket to expose his bandaged feet. "–This! How could you do this to me? - Look at me, Peter - how could you do this to yourself? You could've gotten seriously hurt, what if a whole ass branch fell onto you, what then? Do you know how dangerous – _ Look at me! _"

Peter would have let loose, bawled on the spot like an actual baby if he wasn't caught up on the fact that Steve was nowhere to be seen. He panics, thinking of the worst outcomes that might have befallen on the man, "... Where's Steve - the man, he was with me. What the hell did you do to him!"

Tony falters, perhaps a little taken back with the teen's sudden vigour. There's a pregnant pause, and the man pinches the bridge of his nose, as if he's trying to ease the blow on whatever bad news he was about to drop on the teen. 

_ Please don't be it, please don't – _

"Steve? Steve Rogers?" 

_ ....Huh? _

There's a clamorous buzz in his head, like the neurons in his brain were trying to put two and two together. Peter didn't know Steve's last name was Rogers; he was brought back to the nursery without so much as a chance to ask. 

But Tony? He did...

Oh. 

_ Oh. _

It's funny, how he's never noticed the decors in the nursery, the framed paintings to be specific. Why would he? It was childish looking and pointless. Nothing more than the many expensive knick-knacks Tony had decided to splurge on for his fucked up fantasy. 

Now though, Peter wished he did. Because at every bottom left corner of each painting, was a small signature, signed in blue ink. 

** _November 10th 2XXX. Welcome home, Peter. _ **

** _– Steve. R_ **

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to wrap up the escaping arc by chapter 12 and move on to the next part which focuses a little more on Steve and Bucky. Until then, enjoy reading Peter crying/getting whumped in every single chapter lollll. As usual, comments and ideas are appreciated!
> 
> Check out my [ Tumblr ](https://kinakomanjyu.tumblr.com/) for asks and prompts!


	11. The lesser evil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY this chapter was actually written a few weeks back and I've kept it buried in my google docs. I'm personally not a fan of this chapter and I was pretty hesitant on posting this so please don't expect too much sksksks. On a side note, the number of responses on the previous chap blew me away, I don't reply as quickly but I really appreciate each and every comment that i get! Sorry it took so long for an update but I hope you guys would enjoy it!
> 
> Trigger warnings: Spanking, implied past child abuse.
> 
> A quick summary of the previous chap:  
\- Steve helps Peter with his injuries  
\- Peter confesses the fact that he was kidnapped by Tony  
\- Peter falls asleep and dreams about going back to school when he's drugged by Steve  
\- He wakes up, only to find that he's back with Tony (who is pissed as hell)

"I'll deal with you in the evening." 

It's currently five now, and Tony, for whatever reason had decided to leave Peter in the nursery. Maybe the man wants him to stew in his mistakes; maybe he wants him to genuinely feel bad for escaping. Whichever it was, it no longer mattered, because the one thing; the one glimpse of hope that had him going on in this madness had been thrown straight out of the window. 

Just mere hours ago, Peter felt like he's got the upper hand in this; like the tables had turned entirely. Whatever that he decides to disclose to the cops could simply land the man in prison, everything little thing he adds on could earn him an extra few years in said place. 

Now though, it's like biggest reverse card had been played against him. And no, it wasn't like Peter had expected everything to go according to plan. He was dealing with Tony Stark, after all, he knew he'd face a hurdle or two along the way. But how could one anticipate that the card was none other than Steve? 

The one thing Peter felt like he had control was gone. 

He's back.

Peter is back with Tony, and he's not going to be able to escape for a while. 

He doesn't have the luxury to curse that bastard; Steve Rogers, he doesn't get to dwell on the fact that he had trusted the man, lapping up whatever comfort he could soak when all that lead him to was his demise. Tony is going to give him hell; he'll probably yell at him, spank him definitely, which just leads to more resentment towards the man. 

Well, Peter doesn't want to feel that way. He's tired, he's so fucking tired of crying, hating Tony like that's all he's allowed to do for the past few weeks and Peter wishes he would have died in the woods. 

_ You don't mean that. _

Doesn't he though? Peter hates all of this, whatever he's about to deal with is going to be a living hell, he's already got his diaper back on, so that's one. He's going to have to take whatever shit Tony decides to throw at him, and there's no way to escape that. At least not while he's alive. 

But Peter isn't dead, and he's tightly secured onto the bed with the restraints, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

There's so many things he should've done. He should've made a mad dash the second he met Steve, he shouldn't have disregarded his gut feelings like that, he shouldn't have….

He'd been so, _ so _, close to getting out of here. Peter had the perfect chance, and he fucked it all up by being too naive. 

Peter bites his lips and frowns, wiggling uncomfortably in the cuffs, Tony had strapped them on tighter than usual, barely enough for his arms to move an inch, so he must have screwed up big time. But he knows the restraints wouldn't be the only uncomfortable thing he'll be facing later on and he gulps as his mind drifts back to the last time he'd been spanked. 

The minutes were ticking by now, and he can't halt the sun ebbing its gradual way into dusk. Peter's stomach shifts uneasily, and he notices the crescent marks on his palms, probably from clenching his hands too tightly. 

Peter is pulled out of his thoughts when he hears the familiar footsteps. The teen's head shoots up, and his eyes cast towards the door, his heart pounding in his chest.

The door creaks open, and Tony strides in. At that moment, just as he suspected, the man was furious. Angry eyes were just the start; Tony's expression is tight, cold, hard without a single trace of his usual smile or quips. 

Peter felt like an ant under the microscope.

Tony raises an eyebrow at him, crossing both arms over his faded Black Sabbath tee. The man didn't appear any different the last time Peter saw him after lunch, the exasperated look he'd been sporting all morning still remained, accompanied with the same dishevelled hair and eye bags. 

The man walks over to the bed, unlatching the side rails and restraints. A pair of arms slid under Peter's armpits, quickly sitting him up onto the edge of the crib. The glowering look from Tony, as if daring him to even move an inch, was enough for Peter to stay rooted on the soft mattress.

But then Peter notices something else: there's a subtle shift in expression as he looks away from the crib for a brief moment, one that was quickly wiped off. Tony almost looked...hurt?

Something close to guilt bubbles in Peter's chest, and he doesn't like the feeling that leaves him. The teen adverts his gaze from the man. 

"Peter, eyes off the floor." Tony snaps his fingers, "I want you to look at me." 

Peter, however, resolutely decides to keep his head lowered, eyes trained to the ground. 

Now that his wrists are free, Peter twists the front of his shirt, creasing the fabric and making his knuckles turn white. He can feel his bottom lip trembling already; he knows what's going to happen if he looks at Tony in the eye, but what other options did he have?

The teen swallows thickly, looking back into the brown eyes that meet his own. Something about the man's tight expression unnerved Peter, and he wanted to have a screaming match, really he did. He wanted something. Because this was just frustrating and scary all at the same time, and Peter's muscles were so stiff it hurt.

They stare at each other unwaveringly for a beat or two, waiting to see who would back down first. But Tony only held out for a few prolonged moments before shoving the sunglasses on with a sigh, saying, "I hope you understand why we're having this conversation, yes?" 

Peter shrinks further into himself and nods. God, he knew where this was heading to, the oddly neutral tone and the fact that Tony was now crouching to his eye level; these were all precursors to an incoming lecture. 

"I have to say; I'm a little hurt that you ran off like that. Especially when you've decided to take advantage while daddy was tired from staying up all night." Tony explains, not missing the slight wince in the kid's expression. 

Peter swallowed and shifted nervously, "A-Are you going to..punish me?" he asks, earning a curt nod from the man.

The kid looked like he was about to add on, but when Tony steps forward to pick up both of his hands, Peter momentarily gasps and presses his lips into a thin line. The man takes that as a cue to continue. "I allowed you to have some time to yourself...for you to reflect on your behaviour, and" – he squeezes the top of Peter's pale hands and rubs it with the pad of his fingers in small circles – "Back then, I figured it wasn't the best moment for us. You were pretty shaken up, and I wasn't going to punish you out of anger." 

Peter has to bite the insides of his cheeks to prevent himself from making a smart remark. 

_ As if you aren't any less angry _. 

Instead, he focuses on the calloused fingers, still rubbing his hands. It's probably meant to be comforting, but it's not. The movement, It's awkward... tenser than usual, and that couldn't be good. Tony was firm when it came to 'discipline' but never uptight and high strung like this. And the sunglasses too, Peter didn't know what that was supposed to mean, and the uncertainty scared him. 

He squirms under Tony's harsh scrutiny and tries to pull away his hands, but the automatic response he gets is a tightened grip, "P-Please...let me go, please! I-I won't tell you on the cops, I promise!" his voice cracks and Peter trashes around to move further away from Tony, but he doesn’t go very far. "I-I, I just want to go home. Please! I can't take this anymore; this is – this is torture, I'm not a child, I'm not a baby, you can't continue to keep me here like this!" 

"Peter, you know I can't do that." 

"P-Please... I'm begging you, I want to leave. _ Please _!"

"You aren't going anywhere, kid," Tony pauses for a moment like he's figuring how to take the situation forward. Peter's distress was practically vibrating from his shaky hands, it physically pained him, and he knew damn well that whatever he's about to say, would push the kid to the edge. 

"There's a lot more to this place than you know, kid. Steve...was just one of the many things you weren't told about." 

"H-Huh?" 

"If you're thinking of trying again, whatever that is on your mind - avoiding Steve, going for a different route - I hate to break it to you, Peter, but you'll simply be running in circles –" 

"That isn't answering my question!" Peter interjects, a slight twinge of anger beginning to form in the pit of his stomach.

Tony closes his eyes, and shakes his head, "You wouldn't have gotten far, there are gates everywhere, so there's no way you could have gotten past them. And don't even think of relying on the cops or anyone in the future. If you do, you'll find yourself right back here, _ trust me _." he gives Peter a once over. The kid was both confused and distressed, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. But by the looks of it, it was obvious that Peter wouldn't be able to hold it for long. 

He knows it's cruel, but it had to be done. Any glint of hope in Peter, or the slightest idea to escape once again, had to be nipped in the bud right now. 

And so, Tony straightens his face and gives his kid the final push, "The bottom line is; there won't be a second attempt, Peter. Daddy and the people around you will make sure of that.”

“Escaping is impossible, so please, don't ever put yourself in danger like that again." 

As soon as Tony is done with his monologue, the room falls into silence for a beat before a single sharp sob pierces through the stillness. 

Tony expects Peter to crumple, wail or dissolve into tears but he does none of those things. Instead, the kid bites his lips and reaches out to swipe at his face. For the sake of mercy, the man decides not to comment on the single tear that was hastily wiped off. 

"...T-The gates...people?" Peter feels his anger rising, and he shoves it down, though his voice trembles when he speaks, "I-I can't, I - ah, I don't understand…"

He's cut off when Tony raises a hand, "You don't have to. You'll find out eventually when the time is right, but for now –" the man releases his hold on Peter's hands and settles down on the edge of the mattress beside the teen. "We need to work on that behaviour of yours." 

It all happens so fast when he's pulled over the man's lap. Peter's expression crumbles and twists into one of pure dread as the strong pair of arms wrap around his waist, shifting and holding him closer. 

"N-No!" 

Tony hooks his finger around the waistband of Peter's pants, yanking them off and tossing it to the side. The unused diaper is ripped off, leaving the teen to be exposed entirely waist down, Peter gasps loudly as soon as the cool air hits his bottom and immediately bucks his hips to stand himself back up. 

Tony, of course, had been expecting that and quickly pressed his free hand on the teen's shuddering back, forcing him to remain down. 

"I said, no!" Peter screams, his eyes screwing shut as he struggles against the man's vice-like grip, "Y-You can't! Let me go, let me the fuck – _ ah!" _ a sharp sting on the bottom cuts him off in a flash. His body stiffens and sucks in a shaky breath; it has been a while since he's last received a spanking, long enough for Peter to forget how much a single slap on his bare ass could burn. 

"Every naughty word, or behaviour will earn you another ten strokes," Tony's expression tightens as he speaks lowly, hating how the expected tantrum had begun to rear its ugly head. His face falls into something stern, noting how the kid was dangerously fluctuating between rage and sheer misery. He could only hope Peter would settle on the latter, because he wasn't going to be lenient on this, "That's ten added. Pick your battles, young man. Don't make this worse than it already is," 

Tony inhales sharply, trying to regain the calmness he had set out with initially. But it doesn't help much, not when Peter whips his head back to glare at the man, pressing his lips into a fine line, holding out at their standstill. 

Peter clearly wasn't going to remain passive this time it seems. The kid clenches and unclenches his jaws, and the second he opens his mouth, Tony feels his temper flare like a peacock's feathers. 

"Like hell you are!" Peter spits, having the audacity to reach down, digging his nails into Tony's calf. When that doesn't elicit a response, he raises his hand to strike on the same area. It does little to hurt the man, the thick material of the sweat pants keeping his skin protected, but it's enough to get the point across – they had to do this the hard way.

Tony snaps. 

"You will _ not _ swear or hit anyone!" 

Even before Peter could react, his left hand; the one that he had used to hit the man was yanked out. Tony smacks the top of his soft skin, which reddens instantly. Peter hisses in pain, and yanks his hand away but is promptly snatched backed up by the man, alongside with his other hand. 

Peter's facade falters for a second at the rather vulnerable position he's in. Both hands were now pinned firmly to his back, and they never budged, not even when the teen tried to wriggle his way out. "G-Get off, get off from me!" Peter jolts forward for one final struggle, wincing when Tony curls his fingers around his wrists, _ tight _. It was pointless, the man may be smaller than Steve, but that didn't mean he was weak. 

It was a losing battle on his end. 

"Fine!" Peter lets out an indignant shout, anger and fear as clear as day on his face as he butts his head onto the mattress in frustration. "Slap me around, beat me - do whatever the fuck you want already!" 

Tony watches the kid go still, "_ 30 _, I've got all day, Peter," he says flatly. He feels a slight shift on his lap at the insinuation, but otherwise, no other words were spoken from the kid. It's a visible struggle for Peter, and he's choosing his battles now, that much was clear.

The air shifts a little as Tony leans in closer, goosebumps pricking Peter's arms when the man speaks low in his ear, "Where would you have gone after this?" 

_ Home. _

It's a simple question; it should've been, he'd thought about this while he was running in the woods. But somehow, Peter finds himself unable to answer, totally stunned as Tony's words bounced around in his head.

_ ...Queens? The group home? _

As if he's inner thoughts are seen right through; on full display, Tony continues, "I know you've been staying at a foster home. But that isn't your home; it never was." 

"T- That's not true...My foster parents... they're nice, I have a roof over my head and –" 

"See, that's where you're wrong, kiddo." Tony cuts him off, "You did have a place to live, that is true. But it ends there, and that's all there is to it. They kept you alive, healthy because –" 

_ The state tells them to, it's their job, like it or not. _

_ Obligation. _

"S - Stop it!" Peter stutters out, but he has to pause for a moment, swallowing thickly to hide the way his voice begins to break. "Y-You're only saying all of these to stop me from going to the cops. Y-Yeah, you're scared that your ass will land in prison." 

"No. You might not understand it yet, but this–" – Tony waves a hand, gesturing at the room "-- Is your home, Peter. You have me - your daddy, who loves you very much, who will give you everything you need, or possibly want. You'll never have to be alone here, Peter, not anymore."

"This is where _ you _belong." 

"Fuck off!" Peter can actually feel tears in his eyes from how angry he is, but there's no way he's letting them fall. "My happiness isn't something you can decide!" everything was so messed up, Tony had the audacity to barge into his life, deciding what was going to happen. "I don't need your love, or your posh little mansion! I'd rather keep my title as a pathetic orphan from Queens if that means you'll let me go!" 

"...Alright." 

_ Shit. _

Peter closes his mouth, alright is never a good sign. He has half a beat to think about the implication before a distinct metallic clatter sounded above his head. 

Almost on instinct, the teen nerves himself to look up. 

"I figured 50 strokes with the brush would be enough, but your little tantrum proved me wrong." 

Peter's reaction is immediate as he takes in the sight before him. He takes a few shallow breaths, staring at the belt with impossibly wide eyes, held into a loop in Tony's hands. 

"You'll be getting 80 this time, Peter. And to prove my point, I'll be using the belt." 

And just like that, Peter's demeanour changes, a complete one-eighty at that. 

"P-Please…" The kid whimpers, looking like a kicked puppy as he shoots Tony a desperate look. His anger disappears like a plug has been pulled, smouldering out any flame of defiance that was left in Peter. And now, all that remained was a frightened child. 

"I'm sorry!" he forces out as fear overcomes his pride. "I-I shouldn't have sworn, I'm sorry!" Peter was no stranger to spankings. He's had his fair share of spankings since his arrival here, over the man's knee, pinned down on his stomach. But he's certainly never received more than 30 strokes, nor was a belt ever used on him. 

That thought alone is enough for a loud sob to escape from the teen's trembling lips, frighted by the prospect of what was in store for him. 

"Are we going to have an issue again with our hands?" 

Despite his newfound freedom, Peter remains rigid on the man's lap. He sniffs and shakes his head, voice trembling as he squeaks out a strangled "N-No…"

"Good." 

With a nod, Tony releases his grip on the kid's wrist and places a pillow below his chin "Hold on to it," Tony says, "This will _ hurt _, Peter, and that's why I'm allowing you to have a pillow this time." 

"Don't... don't do it, please…" Peter doesn't have the courage to turn back. Instead, he wraps his arms around the soft pillow, squeezing it tightly and burying his face to make sure the man hadn't caught on the tears that were now rolling down his eyes. "P- Please, I'll be good - I'm sorry...."

Tony signs and places a hand on the kid's bare bottom, closing his eyes and running his other hand through his hair for the umpteenth time. He's in a strange in-between state of anger and guilt, contemplating his next move as he tries to keep a straight face. It doesn't work, and Tony grimaces at the belt held in his hands, if there was any way to tell, he's sure that his heart rate is matching with the kid now, anxiety rushing through him. 

"Nope, like it or not, this is going to happen" Tony speaks low, ignoring the small sniffles and whimpers that reached his ears, "I’ve tried to be patient tonight, Peter, but you’ve thrown it back in my face constantly. You've earned this for being reckless and putting yourself in danger, that is not okay. Neither is it acceptable to hit or use a naughty word against your daddy." 

Tensing and steeling for the next few minutes to come, Tony gathers his thoughts and raises the belt high in the air, bringing it down the to kid's slightly pinked cheek with a sharp, loud _ crack _. 

The leather strap lands, hard on Peter's bottom and a pained scream rips through his throat. The teen's response is immediate to the first smack as his small frame jerks up involuntarily, and if it weren't for Tony's hands pressed against his back, Peter would've been up in a flash, too distressed to even think about the consequences. 

"N-No, no, no!" Peter wails with renewed vigour, kicking and trying to struggle his way out, but Tony loops his arms under his hips and holds him still, bringing the belt down for the second time. As he registers the burn that quickly spreads across his cheeks, Peter hiccups, letting the big blobs of tears soak into the soft fabric of the pillow. 

"P-Please – I'm sorry, I- I'm sorry!" 

"You should've seen this coming when you decided to run off," Tony says, striking him twice more on both sides of his cheeks, "And being disrespectful isn't acceptable, _ at all _." 

"I-I can't…. I can't! Please, it's too much–" 

Tony cuts the crying teen off with the 20th strike, the belt landing right against the curve of his bottom which earns a sharp yelp and violent jerk. 

"You scared me to death, Peter. The rules are here for you to follow - to keep you safe, and you disregarded them." Tony says, giving another smack for emphasis "But that's just the first part, there's so much more to this than just disobeying me or being rude. You're lucky you managed to get away with a bandaged foot and a few scrapes on your knees. What if you got seriously hurt? Different story, right? Because that's on me, and if I have to be the bad guy in order to keep you from putting yourself in any more danger, then you better believe that that's_ exactly _ what I'll do." 

The next stroke drags another ugly, wracked sob out of Peter. During his lecture, Tony had lifted his bottom, perching it higher up in the air to expose his sit spots. The spankings were harder now, aimed at the tender areas where he knows the kid would be feeling the sting each time he sits down. The man needed this punishment to be severe, enough for it to remind him of the consequences. 

"Ah-Ah!" Peter quickly releases his hold onto the pillow, hands flying back to shield his abused ass.

But Tony is quick to react, and the teen's wrist is caught mid-air and pinned onto his back, all in one smooth motion as the man continues to focus on the tender parts, leaving layers after layers of stringing welts in nearly the same place. 

"Peter! What did we agree about your hands!"

_ "Quit the squirming, Anthony! What did we say about being a Stark!? " _

Tony falters his momentum and freezes entirely as those words bounce around in his head, mind buzzing like an electrical circuit struck by lightning. A disturbing amount of shiver shoots down his spine when he realises that his tone, words...everything was horrifyingly reminiscent of Howard Stark. His eyes shift between the thick leather belt in his hands, and the state of the kid's once pristine bottom, now covered with angry red streaks from the implement.

"I-It hurts...it hurts, daddy…"

_ "D-dad, I'm sorry, I-I won't do it again!" _

_ "Stark men don't cry, they're made of iron." _

And that serves as the final blow for Tony's resolve. Shakily, he uncurls his fingers from Peter's wrists and only then does he notice how tightly he's been gripping it the whole time, leaving finger-shaped imprints on the kid's already pale skin. 

A wave of nausea hits him. 

Nothing was holding back Peter now. He expects the kid to immediately retract his hands to cover his bottom, scrambling away to the nearest corner. Whichever comes first, Tony wouldn't have stopped him, at least for now because he's too preoccupied with pushing away; quelling the surge of guilt that now felt like bricks in his stomach. 

But the kid doesn't, instead, he lets his hands fall to his side with a soft thud like he's utterly defeated. 

Peter continues to plead and beg as he sobs openly into the pillow, but his movements had long lost its vigour as he went from nearly hyperventilating to going limp against the man's lap from the 40 something strokes he'd received. 

They stay like that for a full minute, and he's not even sure if Peter noticed that the beatings had stopped. The room falls into stillness; the deadly silence punctuated only by the muffled sobs and the occasional hitch of breath. 

"We're...gonna stop this," Tony barely musters out, feeling suddenly ill as he notices the blotchy welts that were starting to discolour quickly. They were pinkish red for now, but he knew they were going to only deepen over the next few days.

He knew this by experience. 

The kid doesn't move an inch, much less sit up from his position. Tony lifts off the weeping child from his lap, the sobs quickly growing in volume as it loses its muffler when Peter's face is pulled away from the pillow. "Peter, let's take a breather," Tony says again, this time a little louder so the kid could hear him over his dejected wails.

Tony doesn't know how to take things from this point. Technically, the punishment wasn't over, and he's got to offer the kid the alternatives, however…

"S- S'rry, … M' sorry!" 

Peter's entire frame was quaking, shoulders wracking with every sob that forces its way out from his lips. He sniffs, trying to keep the snot from dripping and Tony doesn't have the heart to tell him that it's already smudged all over his face and the pillow despite his efforts. 

And although his mind is still addled with panic and inconsolable nerves, Tony's eyebrows furrow at the sight and he pulls out a wad of tissue before reaching out to swipe at Peter's face. It was done on instinct, like his brain was programmed to do so after living with the kid for close to a month. 

"Don't," Tony says as he pries away Peter's hands when he attempts to rub the tears off with his fists, "Your skin - it's going to go raw if you keep that up" more tissues are pulled out and pressed on the crying teen's face.

After a couple of wet coughs, Peter blows into the tissue that was offered to him. He looks up at Tony to meet his eyes, but he isn't able to make out anything beyond those sunglasses. It hides the part that he always found easiest to read, and without that, all the teen could do was take note of the pursed lips and stiff posture. 

Peter is now deflated, no more resentment or anger left in his body from the beating he'd received. He feels the mattress of the crib sink for a brief moment, before springing back up with a distinct creak. 

He finds himself to be in the exact same position when they first started. Tony stands in front of him, while Peter wriggles from side to side, relieving the pain as he tries to collect himself, even if his face is betraying him. The man crouches down to pick up the pair of pants, and Peter frowns, confused, terrified that he's going to get pulled over and spanked all over again. 

"You're only halfway there, 43 to be exact," Tony starts, causing Peter's heart to jump. Of course, the man wasn't done with him. That explains why he wasn't wrapped up in the usual bone-crushing hug by Tony as soon the spanking ended, muttering words of praises and sweet nothings. Not that he wanted any of those affections, but It was a routine they established, and now, he's more terrified than thrown off that he was getting none of those. 

Peter sniffs, and clenches the tissue in his hands, all balled up and moist from the snot and tears. He shakes his head, "N-No more...Please…" and that was all the teen could manage, while his brain tries to catch up on what was going to happen next. He needed a reason- any reason- to get Tony to just toss the belt away; to stop the punishment altogether. Clearly, trying to talk some sense into the man hadn't worked, neither did begging and Peter was quickly running out of options. 

When Peter decided to run off, he thought he'd be ready to take the chances, even if that meant he'll end up in this very situation. But there he was....a coward, begging and weeping with a sore ass.

Tony notices how Peter is shrinking into himself, most likely terrified at the prospect of what he's about to say. He watches as the kid sniffle back the snot that was dripping out from his nose, "...Kid," he lets out a long breath, dropping the box of tissue on Peter's lap, "You are allowed to take as many as you want, you know that?" 

Instead of a response, Peter only tenses up further and Tony inwardly sighs, concerned. No, he didn't mean to scare the kid this much, but he needed to do something drastic, to take the punishment up by a notch to make sure the lesson would stick with him.

"Peter," Tony starts as he tries to keep his tone low and patient, deciding it was best to get it done and over with, "I know it hurts, and I know you don't want this, but you've really crossed the line. Daddy's very disappointed in you with your behaviour, and you need to learn that this can't happen again, I can't let this slide – not this time." 

"But –" 

"Stop," a hand is raised up, signalling the wide-eyed teen to remain silent. "You're gonna have to hear me out for this one". 

"Normally, I would've pulled you back on to my lap to finish the other half, but–" he drops the belt on the floor putting his arms up in surrender as he kicks it across the room. It hits the wall with a metallic clatter, making the man wince. "I think you're done with the physical part, so I'm going to give you two choices." 

Peter sits in silence, gripping the sheets with worried eyes as he waits for his verdict. 

The man gives Peter a once over, making sure he has his attention before speaking, "One" he raises up a finger, "We can pick up from where we've left off with my hand. Or two –" Tony continues, now holding out the second finger, "You can spend a few days to reflect, on your own."

The response doesn't come right off the bat, and frankly, Tony hopes he's going to settle for the latter, unable to stand the sight of Peter's nearly bruised bottom, though ironically it was caused by none other than himself. But perhaps, that is why distancing himself from the kid was the best option. The guilt of unintentionally harming Peter was killing him alive, realising that it was too easy to fall into his father's methods. He vowed to never end up like Howard if that's the last thing he'll do – to break the cycle of shame. 

But here he was, being an absolute monster to the kid. 

Suddenly, the idea of the time out room didn't seem so inclement anymore. 

Tony shuts that thought out, then looks at Peter again. The kid remained rooted on the edge of the crib solemnly with his head bowed, scuffing his foot aimlessly against the air, tip of toes barely grazing the carpet. He's vacillating between the two choices, but it doesn't take long before he speaks up again, "T-The second one." 

"Alright," Tony nods and waves his hand over to the kid's general direction as he shuffles through the drawer, "Lay down, we'll get your sore bottom sorted out." 

Peter was woozy, light-headed and maybe even a little nauseous from all the struggling and crying. But even in his muddled state, the teen feels the bed dip when he doesn't lay down like he's told. 

He looks up. 

Tony is now sitting beside him; a hand placed on the nape of his neck to guide him down on the mattress. "I need you to lay down on your tummy– there, just like that – you know the drill." 

Peter immediately notices the cold cream that is slathered on his aching ass. The moment is a bliss, despite how much the other areas of his skin burned from the relentless whipping. Laying his head on the sheets, Peter eventually settled but was unable to relax, staring at the tear spots on the fabric as he mulls over his predicament, the strange tension that seemed to linger in the room. 

_ Reflect on your own. _

Those words leave a bad taste in his mouth, and Peter feels his anxiety tick up and up with every minute. He hadn't exactly weighed the odds when he chose the second option, too desperate to end the punishment. Was Tony going to send him to the corner like a naughty child? Whatever it was, it couldn't be worse than a spanking. 

Right? 

Unfortunately for Peter, his frazzled nerves jump all together in different directions when he feels the strong pair of arms lift him off from the bed and back on his feet. 

"Step in,” Tony says as he holds up the pair of pants while stretching the waistbands. 

As Peter wills his wobbly feet to still against the soft carpet, he furrows his eyebrows, confused. There was a nagging feeling at the back of his mind that told him that something was off, leaving him no amount of leeway to be ashamed of the fact that he was still half-naked waist down. 

Waist down. 

Was the keyword Peter needed to realise that the man hasn't put him back into a diaper. Not that he wanted to wear them, but still, the notion of being left on commando made the teen uneasy. 

A lot more than he liked it to be. 

Despite his confusion, Tony only quirks his brows expectantly and nudges the pair of pants forward, which makes the teen further question the situation. 

Unable to contain his nerves, Peter caves in, "B-but I'm not wearing…" he trails off, going back and forth between staring at the pants and Tony's deadpanned expression, hoping that the man would get the message. It doesn't happen though, and Peter finishes off with a sheepish, "...anything underneath," before he hangs his face down in shame. 

"Diapers?" Tony says nonchalantly, which sends a fresh bout of blush on the teen's already flushed cheeks. "You won't be needing those for a while," 

Ignoring the small whimpers of protest, the man grabs Peter by the ankles and forces his legs through the leg holes. 

"Now, step in. Let's not drag this any longer than it already is, hm?" 

"W-won't be needing?" Peter questions. And although Tony was helping him get dressed like a toddler, the teen could hardly bother to pay attention to that. The initial surge of panic was beginning to creep back, his worries reaching its peak point when Tony wraps an arm around his lower waist, hoisting Peter up on his hip with a grunt as he made his way out of the nursery. 

"... What's going on?" this time, Peter's voice comes out as shakier than before. He cranes his neck to get a glimpse of Tony, eyes large and expression vulnerable as he asks again, "Where are we going?" 

Even as the pair emerges from the hallway and into the lift, Tony remains alarmingly silent. The man had always been incessant in getting the teen to talk, but Peter hardly spoke, much less initiate a conversation. And if he did, the man always grinned like a damned Chesire cat, in complete raptures from the rarity of it. Tony would give anything to have the teen say more than one or two stuttered words in a row. 

"W- Where are we going?!"' 

Tony would never let the opportunity slip through his fingers. 

So no, It was unnerving, to think that the man was intentionally ignoring him like that. 

Peter swallows past the lump that is starting to form in his throat, helplessness filing up his chest as he's kept motionless in Tony's too strong arms. It takes another gruelling minute or so for the elevator to grind to a halt on the 2nd floor; Peter hasn't gone to that part of the mansion before.

He stops attempting to persuade Tony for an answer by the time they step out of the lift. The silence stretches on, and Peter's sniffles fill it instead, along with the weak rasp of his fingers fumbling together the fabric of Tony’s shirt – the faded material a soft and much-needed source of comfort, but mostly a distraction when he realised that his thumb was prodding at his lower lip. 

The walk wasn't a long one, just a quick pop down the hall and a few corners. Peter's heart rate immediately begins to pick up when they stop in front of a solid metal door, his fingers now leaving the fabric and digging into his palms as he looks up. 

Just as he does so, Tony begins to talk. 

"This –" Tony's left-hand rests on the knob, twisting it, "– is where you will be staying." 

Peter flinches 

The first thing that hits the teen is the ray of sunlight. That day he's managed to escape from the mansion... it has the same fieriness to it, the orange-red hues identical in a chilling way. 

Except for the fact that he wasn't going anywhere this time. 

"T-this is–" 

Peter watches with uncomprehending eyes as Tony lowers him down on the floor. His shoulders are then grabbed instead, and the man leads him further into the room. 

The room...

It's _ plain _ , for a start. Probably the barest place in the mansion if the lack of decors and colours were any indication. The walls are simply white, not peeling or dirty, just _ white _. The room is entirely devoid of any fixtures or fittings, save for the small window and the mattress that sits low to the ground, paired with a pillow and blanket which were again – white. 

Already, Peter mind drifts back to the nursery and the playroom, filled with colours, warm and homey if it weren't so childish looking. 

Wait...where did that thought come from? 

Not a word is spoken as Tony guides him towards the mattress, before firmly shoving him down until he was sitting. He makes his way to the corner of the room, and Peter stills, trying to crane his head over when he hears a loud clang. He's confused at first, but the moment Peter notices the cuffs in Tony's hands and the metal chain that trails along as he walks back to the teen, realisation sparks. 

"No!" 

In a split-second decision, Peter scrambles on his feet to distance himself from Tony. He's a few seconds too late though, because the man is there in an instant with an even quicker hand, grabbing Peter by the ankles and forcing it out to lock the cuffs into place.

"Peter,"' Tony starts, "Do you know why you are here?"

The response he gets isn't what he wants, but it's expected. Peter begins to sob, seemingly defeated as he tries to pry open the cuffs with his fingers. "T-take this off, please..." 

"Earlier–" 

"Please!' 

Tony signs and continues, "I asked if you wanted to finish it off with a reflection, didn't I?" he says, kneeling down to the kid's level and tapping a finger under Peter's chin "You agreed to the time out, so here we are. For the next few days, you are going to stay in this room, _ alone _. I want you to reflect on your behaviour for the past two days, got it?" 

Somehow, as soon as those words leave him, the kid's expression morphs into one of horror, and perhaps despair. "A-Alone? N-no...No! I can't!" 

"You can Peter; it's just a few–" 

"NO!" 

Tony barely looks in time before he has his arms full of a teenager. Peter throws his body onto the man, his arms slung around Tony's neck and his face sobbing into the crook of his neck. Whether it was from the overwhelming guilt or the fact that the kid had suddenly developed a vice-like grip from the desperation, Tony can't bring himself to push the kid away. 

"Pete!" Tony only wills himself to loosen the arms around him when the grip gets so tight to the point that it made the man wheeze. Just like every other time, Tony is seriously starting to second guess his decision now. "For the love of God, calm down!" 

But the kid was having none of it. "No! Please! I'm s- sorry!" he begs and pleads, screaming out blue murder as he struggles to break free from the cuffs. "I-I can't...I don't want to be here, please!" 

"You'll be fine, okay?" Tony says, panting as he finally manages to wrestle away from the kid. "It's just a few days. You'll still have your meals each day, just that you'll be having them in this room. If you need the bathroom, there's a potty over there, see?" he gestures to the other side of the room, which briefly catches Peter's attention.

Peter flickers his gaze over. Though he can barely make out its details through his misty eyes, there's a bright coloured training potty placed in the corner. It's large enough to accommodate his size, but Peter doesn't have the luxury to be embarrassed, or surprised over the fact. 

_ "You won't be needing those for a while." _

Now it all made sense. Usually, he'll go through 4-5 diapers a day, which meant that Tony would have to clean him up each time. To think that he’d go so far just to avoid that…

He can't deny that he's a little hurt by the realisation. 

"P-Please, please–" Peter cries, heaving through sobs, "Don't go- I..I'll take the s-spankings, please!" 

"You know I don't want to do this," Tony says, and he isn't lying. He never wanted to use the time out room, the fact that he's going to have to leave the kid alone for even an hour, unnerved him. "I…" 

It takes a few minutes, Tony thinks, to quell the surge of guilt and anxiety that fills his stomach. _ Break the cycle of shame _, he promised himself. 

And Tony was going to do just that. 

Mind made up, he gives Peter a gentle push, which is enough for him to fall flat onto the mattress. 

Peter's reaction is immediate. He sits up, lunging towards Tony but falls short on a few inches as he tries to grab the man for the second time. Tony's arms slip through his own desperate arms with ease, and just like that, the man was leaving – walking away towards the door, not once looking back at the distraught teen. 

"W-wait...WAIT!" Peter seems to grow increasingly distressed than he already is by the second if that's even possible. "Da-Daddy, Daddy! W-wait, come back, please! Don't go…don't leave me here! I'm sorry_, please!" _

Tony halts his advance for a moment, but what comes out of his mouth isn't what Peter wants to hear. 

"I'm sorry too, Peter. But daddy's trying his best, and this is all I can think of." 

"No, no, no, no, no!" the rational part of Peter tells him to run - towards the door before Tony leaves for good- but he can't do that, not when his legs had a mind on its own, feeling like dead weights, abandoning all hope that the man was going to reconsider. "PLEASE GOD, NO! DON'T LEAVE ME!"

"...It's the lesser evil." 

Then defeat heavy in his gait, Tony left, closing the door behind him with a definite click. 

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

_ "Please...please...please..." _

Night time rolled by quicker than Peter liked it to be. The skies long since darkened from bleak grey to the familiar black, the relentless caws from the crows tapered off to nothing but silence. 

But Peter's soft cries don't stop, the word please coming out of his mouth again and again like a prayer. There's a plate of untouched dinner by his side, and Peter vaguely recalls that it came warm when it was first brought in. It's cold now, but the teen couldn't bring himself to care. 

Peter shouldn't care because Tony didn't. The man simply strode into the room, and placed the food without so much as a glance as the teen begged and pleaded for the umpteenth time. 

And then, Tony left him alone, again. 

That's how it should be, Peter knows. 

But somehow, the emptiness is worse than if he stayed. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take a shot each time Peter says please and sorry 🥃
> 
> As usual, comments and kudos are always appreciated! I ABSOLUTELY thrive on compliments and I'm currently facing a little bit of writer's block as I'm writing the next part (chap 12) so ideas are welcomed too :)  
P.S  
I'll be dropping a poll over here so feel free to fill it up if yall have the time btw: https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSfNbq2u6Lb_sCYKwvSHZtZtFuRnHVvWah6Me1rr8YC2AGF2pQ/viewform
> 
> Check out my [ Tumblr ](https://kinakomanjyu.tumblr.com/) for asks and prompts!
> 
> \----UPDATE----
> 
> The next chapter isn't going to be out for awhile. Do take a look at my tumblr for more details


	12. Thunderstorm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey it's me again! Forgive me that it took so long to update. I've actually been working on this chapter for a while now, but this one has been especially difficult to write for some reason. I originally intended to complete the escaping arc in this chap (with a larger word count), but i didn't want you guys to wait any longer, and i was also hoping that posting earlier would help me get out of the writer's block I'm still currently stuck in (sorry if this story is getting too draggy) 
> 
> I'll be honest that I'm kind of embarrassed to post this chapter, and i had some difficulties writing it, hence the long wait. It might not be as great, but i hope it's still enjoyable for everyone :)
> 
> TW:  
Panic attack, overstimulation, brief/implied mentions of past child abuse.

_ The lesser evil _

Tony was five when he'd first heard his father utter the infamous phrase. Howard would yell and berate him until he ran out of air for the better part of his life, but this one had particular ly stuck out a nd ultimately managed to plague him throughout his childhood and well into his adulthood. 

.

.

.

"Daddy?" 

"...What did I tell you to address me as?"

"D-dad..." 

There, he's done it again. He screwed up. Tony willed himself to glance over, he instantly regrets the decision. The look Howard Stark gave him was enough to send Tony's insides squirming, wondering why his father would look at him like  _ that _ all over again.

Like a failure. 

And yet, Tony would swallow down the lump in his throat to speak to the man. Because he's five. A prodigy indeed, but too naive to understand that not all cold shoulders had tough love hidden underneath. 

"...I watched the Telly with Ma and I-" 

"Just get to the point, Anthony; what is it that you want this time? Is it that RC toy? You know damn well that we don't allow such things in this house." 

"I-I well-" 

God, he should have just stayed with Jarvis at the veranda. Why did he think it’d be any different this time– 

"Speak up, son. No one likes a mumbler." 

Tony dipped his head down, shame spreading across his face as he forced himself to continue.  Truthfully, he doesn't know why he'd decided to walk up to his father's study that day,  especially now, when it seemed like his father was ready to tear him apart. It was too late to back out though, Howard never liked it if he did that, and Tony knew it wouldn't end well on his part if he did. 

"D-dad, you said that we help our people, right?" Tony said, "Obie said we make planes and weapons to help the soldier fight the bad guys." 

There's a pause, and Howard sighed without looking up from his papers, "Alright...where is this going?" 

"But-" Tony answered in a small voice, "I saw the soldiers getting hurt, dadd-  _ dad _ . The Jerico… it had our name on it – that means it's ours!" 

Another sigh. 

"Is that it? Is this why you came over to me?" 

"D-don't we gotta help them?" 

"No." 

"But why-" 

" _ No _ , Anthony." Howard threw down his papers and glared at Tony, "Our only job is to make those weapons; that means we have no business with what happens over there. There are people in charge– who handles those things. Now, are we done here?" 

Tony should’ve back down at this point. 

"D-do you invent things to h-hurt people? Do I have to do it too when I grow up?"

_ "Enough!"  _ Howard seethed, "Don't ever question your father like that, do you hear me? How do you think you and your mom are able to live off like this, huh?" he waves his hand around, gesturing to the lavish furniture and decors. 

Tony bit his lip, ignoring the familiar burn in his eyes. None of those mattered to a fucking five-year-old, not even after 30 years. The novelties of growing up in a wealthy family dies off fairly quickly. For as long as Tony could remember, all he wanted was a normal childhood that most certainly did not involve galas, getting thrown into the spotlight or the constant scrutinies from the media. 

But he knows his lines. 

"Y-your job." 

"Exactly. Now listen to me,  _ closely  _ " Howard said, picking up the papers from the ground and starting right where he's left off. "The company... It's my-  _ our _ legacy, Anthony. Success is what we are looking for, not sympathy. Some people might sure as hell hate us for what we do, but we pick our battles – to sacrifice the lesser evil for the greater good." 

Tony only nods. There's no more hesitance, just pure defeat in the child's eyes "...Y-yes dad." 

"Remember what I said, and make sure it goes through that thick skull of your... _ are you crying?! _ " 

Howards lets out an exasperated sign; it does a poor job at veiling the annoyance and disappointment that seems to seep out from the man.

"Jarvis, Jarvis!" Howard yelled, and the English butler strode into the study within seconds, swooping the crying child in his arms as he took his leave. "Come on, go, go!" the man dismissed the pair, gesturing his hand towards the door like he's waving off a bunch of pests.

Not the "greatest creation" his father seemed to have claimed him as. Tony scoffs each time he thinks about the old recording that Tony discovered 20 something years later since that car accident. The man viewed him as his legacy, but Tony begged to differ. His father was cold and calculative at his best, violent at his worst. 

Jokes on Howard, though, because as soon as he took over the company, Tony had shut down the weapons manufacture. Some said he'd done it for clout, but really, all he wanted was to build something that doesn't blow up. 

_ "We're ironmongers; we build weapons."  _

A livid Obadiah once said. But it wasn't like Tony listened. That was something he'd long since stopped doing: listening to the incessant lectures. 

_ "Starks are made of iron...Stark men don't cry...Starks are meant to destroy things."  _

Howard would tell him each time he failed to meet his expectations, which was pretty much a daily occurrence.

He'd long stopped meeting Howards's expectation too. 

Tony believed he had stepped out from his father's shadows; to be a better version of what Howard was, but every so often, usually during the most random of times, a small voice at the back of his mind tells him he's never really managed to. That he's never truly moved on from Howard. 

At least the way those words ended up sticking with him for so many years...Tony had long decided that he'd probably never forget them, even though he no longer believed them. 

His father was right about one thing, however. Being a Stark, which was more of a curse than a blessing, meant that they made terrible parents. It simply wasn't in their DNA. And Tony Stark, himself, is the living example of how Starks are completely incapable of raising a child. Howard had done a pretty shitty job in parenting. In fact, he's done such a shitty job that Tony never learned how true discipline worked unless belts and bar soaps were included in the list. 

So it's no surprise that Tony has spent the past few decades filling the void that was left with his father's death. His every move is still checked against whether his father would have done the same thing, and he'll never know, because well, the man is probably busy rolling in his grave right now. 

Tony was self-aware enough to know that even as a successful adult, he's still messed up in some parts - like how he's still got the same emotional capacity as the brilliant and angry teenager he was the night his parents were killed.

And Tony was...well, he had been trying to break the cycle of shame. Even if he knew that the apple doesn't fall far from a tree, he did attempt to be a better parent. Actions and words were difficult, and he might have struggled a little to strike a balance between the good and the bad cop, but Tony, for the most part, thought he was doing a pretty decent job at that. 

He allowed himself to have a little leeway, a little more elbow room to explore his parenting methods. 

Tony thinks he might have given himself a little too much. 

He’s jerked out of his self-indulgent thoughts when another message from the board pops up on the hologram display. The workshop, it's blasting with some AC/DC now, and the man tries to get lost in the music and his tinkering, but it's hard when his heart is somewhere else. 

Peter Benjamin Parker. 

And it's not like the music can shut down the kid's hysterical sobs either. 

Just like every other time he second-guessed himself, Tony wonders if the time out room wasn't a good idea after all. He glances over to the live feed that was pulled up, linked to the surveillance cameras – the ones Tony had installed initially to keep an eye on Peter during naps and playtime, while he had to be down in the workshop for his projects. He'd always check in on the feed regularly, and each time he did that, Tony had always thought of himself as an overprotective parent with a nanny cam. But today, he feels more like a prison guard on duty. 

Peter would cry, scream and beg throughout the day, looking all kinds of terrible. And if the crying weren't bad enough, the kid would either pace around the room like a caged animal, or endlessly stare at the door. Hell, the kid had probably cried more than he's slept since the time out room. While he never expected Peter to follow through with his nap time schedules, Tony was hoping that the crying would at least wear the kid out enough to conk him out for the night. 

News flash, it never did. 

He felt guilty, of course, but at the same time, Tony couldn't quite wrap his head around the kid's distress. The time out room is a temporary thing, and yet, the kid looked at him with unadulterated fear...like Tony had just given him a life sentence. 

No, No way. Tony would never do that, the kid would  _ never _ think of that. 

Peter was given three meals a day, had a mattress to sleep on, and a potty to boot. He figured that the bathroom privilege would at least keep their interaction to the minimum. It was for the best, Tony reasons. Peter definitely needed some space, and Tony, well, he needed… 

_ He needed a wake-up call that the punishment was digressing into a selfish excuse for the man to wallow in his personal insecurities. _

Peter was coming apart at the seams, suffering both mentally and physically. He barely ate anything Tony had to offer, which was concerning. And if Tony weren't such an emotional wreck, he would have tried to give something more than a half-hearted pat on the back when Peter broke down this morning, something other than continuing to isolate and distance the kid from himself. 

After watching the kid sob for a full fifteen-minute through the monitor, Tony really wanted to relent and take Peter back to the nursery, even if he had no clue on how to take things from that point. Because it hurt to listen to those sobs. Peter never cried like that, not even in the most humiliating situations. 

But the worst part is when those sobs morph into wordless screams. 

He'd scream in the middle of the night, piercing, if not garbled at times, but nonetheless distressing and intense. 

And at these times, Tony isn't the only one that is shaken by it. 

His bots – Dum E and U, who knew the kid had already gotten them wrapped around his finger? Tony hasn't had the chance to introduce them to Peter, and yet, they seemed concerned for Peter, mad at its creator even. 

Dum E's performance and motor skills weren't exactly top-notch; it never was. Although he's somewhat of a lubber, Tony knew that the "accidental" dropping of tools, or the fact that he's never got a single coffee order right since the kid was placed in the time out room wasn't just the bot's occasional slip and falls. 

Tony groans. 

He's been up for 40 hours straight, and his coffee machine – now jammed with motor oil had stopped functioning at the 24th-hour mark. "Come on boy, coffee", he hisses weakly, waving off the hologram display. The tiredness and caffeine withdrawal was hitting him hard, and his project wasn't even half done. 

A beep, then a whir. 

Tony hears DUM-E wheeling behind him, and then there's the sound of porcelain on the countertop. He lifts his head, peering through spread fingers. It's teeming with motor oil...again, and Tony seriously considers chugging it up right there and there. Anything that could knock him out would suffice. 

"Are you…" Tony starts, noticing how garbled his words were, how it caught up to him slower than usual; he blames the sleep deprivation. "Oh, come on, are you still mad at me?" 

The robot gives Tony a whir, his claws spinning in a 360 direction before it smacks the top of the man's head. He gives DUM E an incredulous look, but it's wheeling away from the man and back to its charging station even before he's able to dismantle the damned machine he called a creation, an illegitimate AI child born in his father's lab, back in his days at MIT. 

"I'll take that as a yes." 

God, he was a terrible father. 

Or maybe...he was just a coward. Maybe he's just too afraid to deal with the aftermath of his decisions. Maybe he just wanted to push himself away  _ first _ before Peter could even push him away. 

Since when couldn't a Stark take a rejection, though?

****

Peter doesn't know how long he's been like this, but he must've been a sight, sitting in the corner of the room in a tear-stained shirt. 

He didn't even want to see himself – knees curled into his chest and arms wrapped tightly around them in a hug, as if it's any kind of replacement for someone else's arms. The teen momentarily lifts his head from its hiding place and looks up pitifully at the metal door through his blotchy eyes, before returning his face quickly into the space between his knees. 

Despite everything that has happened to him, Peter doesn't know if he's ever been more scared. Distantly, the teen wonders if escaping was what he needed to finally cross Tony's threshold, the point where he'll be treated like an  _ actual _ hostage, shackled, isolated and locked away in a small part of the basement. 

Though, Peter has never pondered on it too closely before, always too caught up in trying to avoid that very thing from happening. 

Or was it because he'd developed a false hope? A pathetic pipe dream of sorts that despite how messed up the whole baby toddler treatment was, Tony would've never truly hurt him. 

Fuck. 

Peter can feel his eyes burn again, but he refuses to cry, even as his lips tremble, shoulders heaving with emotion. Instead, he twists the front of his shirt, desperately trying to quell the tears that were already beginning to form in his eyes. He hopes the numb, detached feeling would return soon; that was way easier to deal with than the constant urge to cry. It feels like that's all he's been doing for the past few days – crying and spacing out from the lack of sensory input, as if his brain could no longer process the myriad of emotions. 

Peter guesses that he's going through an emotional overload, a little bit like the frequent sensory overload he's had in thunderstorms since well...May passed.

He's dejected. It's currently day two since Tony had locked him into this room.  _ Two _ . Just 48 hours without that man...no scratch that, being alone has reduced Peter from a naive, unstable teen to a needy, crybaby who couldn't even keep his emotions in check to save his life. 

A literal baby. 

It doesn't take long for Peter to realise that he's doing... _ the thing  _ again.

Sometime during his train of thoughts, his thumb had subconsciously managed to creep into his mouth. Spit was dribbling from his chin and down to the fabric of his pants, forming a small wet patch , when he looks down an d Peter yanks his thumb out with a pop. The teen's cheeks burn with mortification and horror as he looks down at his wrinkled finger, and then proceeds to shove both hands under his knees, clamping it shut to make sure it wouldn't happen again. 

Peter had long lost count on how many times he's caught himself like that, thumb lodged into his mouth, sucking aggressively like his life depended on it. 

A weak whine escapes his lips, eventually dissolving into quiet whimpers. Peter was attention-starved, he was touchy, he was scared to be himself, and he's a few seconds too late to stop the fresh bout of tears that were now falling from his eyes. 

"S-Stop it, stop crying!" Peter croaks, reaching out to wipe his eyes with the sleeves of his shirt, ignoring how raw his under eyes felt from the constant rubbing. "K-keep it together, Parker." 

Things hardly made sense for the teen now. It was almost as if just about anything could set him right off. Just a couple of hours ago, Peter looked at the plate of dinner Tony had left him and  _ boom _ , tears in his eyes. He's done a lot of crying, but it wasn't like he could help it. May and Ben always told him that he was just a sensitive, emotional person and that those traits were what made the teen so endearing and kind. 

Peter doesn't know if that's a good thing anymore. 

Sniffling, Peter makes his way over to the mattress, ready to settle for the night. His vision sways the moment he stands up, and he has an odd gait, most likely from how he's been missing out on sleep. 

The daily routines, as much as he hated them, must've been hardwired deep into his systems to the point where Peter simply couldn't function without them. 

Talk about classical conditioning. 

He looks over to the door again, and _ god _ he's such an idiot. Peter shouldn't need those bedtime stories and bottles; he shouldn't miss his throw blanket, he shouldn't tear up each time he thought of the detachment he felt from Tony when the man had dumped him into this room, like he was some baggage that was too much of a burden. And most of all, he shouldn't be feeling so fucking remorseful of running away. 

But he did. 

The point is, everything was too different. Peter has slept worse than he's ever had, constantly alternating between the need to soothe and cry throughout the night. The past few nights were reminiscent of his days in the foster home. He knew that there were sleep aids in the formula, but it was still a nice change from crying himself to sleep. He's almost forgotten how it felt, to have his head left hazy, lashes clumped with dried up tears in the morning, coupled with the stubborn pang of emptiness that followed him through for the rest of the day. 

Peter's eyes fall onto the plate of food, untouched and cold from being left out for so long. 

He wasn't eating well either, his appetite stolen by nerves, dwindling to nothing, and Peter doesn't know what has gotten to him. 

He's tried, and he's still trying to get food down his throat, but a small nibble is all he can manage, before the inevitable wave of nausea hits him, forcing him to put down the fork. Peter's last meal was three bites of toast from a day ago, when Tony had coaxed him enough to eat. In which he complied, because Peter couldn't stand being yelled at again, and definitely not because that was the only thing close to an interaction he's made with Tony in the past few days. 

_ "Come on, kid....at least eat something." The man had said, nudging the egg toast against his lips. Peter took a tentative bite, eyes swollen from all the begging and crying. He received a pat on the back as a response. The sudden contact made his face light up, but the long sigh from Tony that followed quickly strikes out the fleeting hope in the teen.  _

Though that was a day ago, and he highly doubts the man would want to speak to him again. He barely saw Tony these days. The only times were when his meals were brought in and taken away, or when the potty had to be emptied. 

Peter roughly ran his hands through his hair, pulling on it. The pain was good; it helped ground and center him. He could think about this logically, process this.

Surely, Tony couldn't –  _ wouldn't  _ keep him locked up here forever?

With every passing night and morning he spends in this room, Peter grows uneasy, hating the doubt that was starting to bubble up his chest, alongside with the fear that came along when he realised how different Tony has been acting. 

It was hard to believe that the same man who cooed and cuddled him overbearingly since he took him was acting so silent and strange. Like a stranger. 

Confused, scared, lonely... so many emotions all at once, but the one that quite literally throbbed at his attention was the fierce headache that has been bothering him since all morning. Peter groans, laying down on the mattress and pulling the blanket over his tear-stained face. 

The synthetic material is plain white and a little too thin for his liking, but it is what it is – a blanket. Under the covers, where no one else is watching and judging him, it's surprisingly easy for Peter to lose his resolve. Unable to stop himself, Peter raises his thumb to his mouth and pops it right back in, giving it a couple of gentle sucks before letting his eyes fall shut. 

******

There's an odd sort of coolness, right at his lower half when Peter wakes up. 

And yet, the realisation doesn't come right off the bat; his mind addled with sleep. The first thing he notices as soon as Peter opens his eyes, is the thumb that is still lodged firmly into his mouth. He doesn't bother to remove it, somewhat comforted by the fact that he's still very much huddled under the cover. 

The second thing that hits him, is the  _ smell.  _

It's off-putting, the unmistakable odour of ammonia making it impossible to dismiss, masking off the earthy smell from the rain that would have remained unnoticed if it weren't for the violent pattering of raindrops against the glass window. Peter tosses, turns and finally pokes his head out of the blanket, and that's when he notices how tightly the pair of pants are clinging to him. 

Or how the smell seemed to be coming from him. 

It takes half a second for the cogs in his head to turn, to understand what it meant...to understand what he had actually done. 

Peter had wet the bed, undeniably and unmistakably, like a child.

His pants were soaked in piss, starting from the crotch area to the seat and even all the way up to the hem of his shirt. The mattress wasn't spared either; he slid a hand between the mattress and the sheets to see if there was at least a waterproof layer like the crib did. The cold squish of the fabric against his palms confirmed that he's used up all of his luck. Not that he's had much, to begin with. 

Peter jerks out of the cover with a cry, scooting away from the dark spot that seemed to stretch all the way to the edges. 

He's not an idiot, and he should have seen it coming. Some rational part of his brain watched the ruined mattress from a distance, horrified that things had gotten to this stage without him taking more conscious note of it. It's one thing to piss in a diaper. As pathetic as it was, he only had to stew in his own shame while Tony cleaned him up, not knowing that it all happened in his sleep. 

Now though... There's no way Tony wouldn't find out. Not unless the man had busted his sense of smell, because the room would reek of stale urine by morning. The thought alone makes him feel dizzy, and Peter wonders if he's better off if he passed out. 

Peter has to do something about this mess, but all he wants to do is to escape from the shit show he's gotten himself into. The teen doesn't know if it's desperation, shame or a horrible mix of both anymore, but every part of him wants to go to a different place, away from what he's done. But he isn't going anywhere. The door is made of dense steel, and the window is locked at multiple points. The only plausible thing Peter could do, was to wait for Tony until the next morning. 

But what then? 

Tony was going to be livid, Peter was sure of it.  He’s going to be more screwed than he already is, have his mattress taken away with no more blankets. Peter begins to freak out over his ruined clothes too, he can't bear to live with the fact that the man was going to have to wash his soaked pyjamas.

It's a pointless attempt, but Peter gets up to strip the sheets off, balling them up and trudging around the room like a lost child, unsure of how to take it from here. His eyes are starting to burn again, and Peter takes a slow and shaky breath, scrubbing roughly at his face with the sleeves of his pyjamas. It would be easier to break down in the middle of the room, to wait and accept Tony's inevitable scoldings. But he can't, he just  _ can't.  _

And he doesn't know why. 

As seconds turn to minutes with no real solution coming to his mind, Peter's thoughts begin to accelerate, soon matching the sound of the heavy rain splashing against the glass of the window. He knows the room is empty, he knows there isn't anywhere to hide the sheets. But none of those mattered at the moment, not when he's pacing about the room like there's a ticking time bomb inside of him. 

The abrupt crack of thunder halts his advances for the first time in 10 minutes. It takes a full second for the rattle to mellow down into a quiet rumble, before diminishing into the silence. Peter's shrieks, eyes blown wide and dead in his tracks. He feels like he's detached from his body, the kind that makes him all spacey, and even if he tries to grab a thought, he can't seem to find its tail. 

It should be an irrational fear, Peter reasons. And yet, when the flash of lightning lights up the dark room, all that crosses his mind is an image of a frightened teen all over again. 

Alone and orphaned, the smell of blood, the cold rain, the wails from the ambulance...

Then something snaps, and Peter suddenly realises how he's terrified of thunderstorms, how that accident had changed his life and how sad he was that it took May's life.

It  _ is  _ an irrational fear, Peter shouldn't have had it, but here he was, sobbing his lungs out and forcing himself to swallow a scream when a second thunder hits. 

Right, left, up and down – the teen looks around as he attempts to distract and calm his way out  from the full-blown panic attack he’s working himself into,  but the room is empty. With nothing to keep his mind off, Peter's already laboured breathing morphs into quick, shallow breaths. 

Unforgivingly enough, there's a succession of thunders and lightning, an indication that the rain was quickly evolving into a thunderstorm. His ears fill with more loud cracks and distant booms. With his heightened senses and racing heart, even the lowest rumbles from the clouds seemed to grate on the teen's nerves in a way that it never had before. 

Peter's legs are the ones that give out first, knees buckling and forcing him into a prone kneel. The panic hits him like a tidal wave as it swallows him whole, rendering him impossible to surface from it. Just like how the walls seemed to be closing in on him, his lungs feel tight in his chest, seconds aways from collapsing. So much that it hurt 

The lightning is blinding. The thunder is too loud, there's too much of everything. A myriad of thoughts races in his mind, and he can't seem to decide what to latch onto – Tony, the wet bed, the thunderstorm itself, May's death, and where he is standing right now. 

He's hyperventilating. 

All efforts to conceal his shameful deed is thrown out of the window as Peter hauls the soaked sheets halfway across the room, pressing his fits against the floor to focus on his breathing. It doesn't work, and the teen thinks he's lost his mind. His heart is pounding violently, like it's ready to jump right out of his chest. 

Peter's body shakes uncontrollably, curling up into himself as he rocks a little on the spot. 

God, what was he going to do?

He has to catch himself from thumbing down the proverbial hole of panic, but he's so alone and frightened. His lower half is starting to itch and burn from the urine, the thunder is loud, he's terrified, and his chest hurts  _ so _ bad. His throat is tight – he can't breathe. He's going to die. He's going to die. He's going to die. 

He's got to run. 

The primal part of him takes over. Before Peter can rationalise his thoughts, he's already scrambling over to the other side of the room where the door sits. 

"H-help!" Peter screams, pounding on the metal door with tightened fists. His legs are wobbly, and he staggers until he falls and leans against the door "Tony, Tony? S-Somebody, please!" 

Peter waits for a full minute, the room going silent as soon as he stops banging on the door. He hopes that it would open, that someone,  _ anyone  _ would rush in to save his sorry ass. 

But his voice only echoes, falling deaf to his surroundings.

Nothing happens. 

"P-please?" he tries again, ignoring how his words are barely pushed through his lungs. "I-I'm scared, please... I'm, I'm I - ah, I can't, I can't breathe –" 

Whatever breath Peter has left is knocked out as another thunder hits the ground, this one loud enough to leave a resounding ring in the teen's head. Peter cries, raising his balled-up fists and hitting the solid metal with increased vigour. His knuckles starts to throb and sting. It hurts, and they feel tight and sore. 

"Help... I don't, I don't want to be here. I swear I'll be good, I won't be bad anymore. Tony, please. I'll stay in bed from now, and I'll take my naps and, and –  _ I won't escape anymore. _ P- Please, It's really loud and dark, and I'm scared. I-I don't wanna die!" 

A sob. Another bang. 

Tony wasn't coming. 

The pain eventually gets too much, and Peter briefly cradles his hand to his chest, crying his heart out. He does try to smack the door with his open palm, but he's too breathless to attempt anything else. 

Peter's mind is addled with nothing but panic and distress in equal measure. There's not enough air in his chest, and he lets the fear have his mind and body, too exhausted to fight it. His struggles become more haphazard, and the desperation makes his hand movements sloppy. 

Suddenly, Peter stops his relentless pounding. 

And he screams. 

What starts off as a low, tortured moan soon morphs into that of a shill, agonising scream. 

The sudden strain burns his throat, making his head pound. Peter folds in on himself; knees pushed up to his chest, hands clamped over his ears as he rocks violently on the spot. This time, it's intense enough for his forehead to bump against the metal surface each time he rocks forward. 

His ears ring, and he can't stop. The pain vibrates his skull, and it feels like they might split in half, as he repeatedly hits his head but he doesn't care. 

Peter thinks he probably looks insane, but all behaviour is communication, in which screaming is the most desperate form. 

He screams because he's lost, abandoned and confused, a perfect summary of his life for the past six months. He screams because he longs for the safety of cribs and stuffed toys – he hates the cold, white walls and the bleakness it brought. 

He screams for  <strike> his daddy </strike> that someone who would come help end it. 

Which is why he never stops. 

.

.

.

_ "Peter!"  _

  
  
  
  


  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I really appreciate the response on the previous chapter, reading through your comments had seriously helped me big time in trying to get over the little mental block i'm having at the moment. It's Friday over here in my timezone, so I'll try to reply to all of the comments over the weekends <3
> 
> Next chapter: A certain fluffy friend of Peter's will be making a reappearance. Also, Tony is pretty much an asshole in this chap, but he'll be sorry for sure in the next one *evil laughs*
> 
> P.S, TFAWS is amazing, i think i'm slowly falling in love with Bucky's character thanks to the series.


End file.
